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T"f. 


THE 


BIRDS    AND    SEASONS 


OF 


NEW   ENGLAND. 


By  WILSON  FLAGG, 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  WOODS  AND  BY-WAYS   or  NEW  ENGLAND." 


Mt&  EItastrati0tw. 


*e2  ~^ZJ5%£2 and  from  year  t0  year  they  «™ 


BOSTON: 
JAMES   R.   OSGOOD   AND   COMPANY, 

Late  Ticknor  &  Fields,  and  Fields,  Osgood,  &  Co. 

1875. 


Copyright,  1875. 
By  JAMES   R.  OSGOOD  &  CO. 


University  Press  :  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co., 
Cambridge 


TO 

SAMUEL  P.   FOWLEK,  Esq., 

THE  AMATEUR   NATURALIST  ; 

THE    FRIEND   AND    ABLE   ADVOCATE    OF   THE    BIRDS, 

AND 
THE   USEFUL   AND   ENTERTAINING   WRITER, 

£Jjts  Folume 

IS   RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED    BY   ONE   OF   THE   ADMIRERS 
OF    HIS    GENIUS   AND    HIS   WORTH, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


INTEODUOTIOK 


The  title  of  this  work  does  not  give  the  reader  a 
full  understanding  of  its  scope  and  contents,  as  it 
treats  of  Scenes  and  Flowers  as  well  as  of  Birds  and 
Seasons.  Its  present  form  was  adopted  for  the  sake  of 
brevity.  My  classification  of  Birds  is  wholly  arbitrary, 
but  not  without  signification.  In  the  Index  I  have 
given  their  scientific  names,  chiefly  according  to  Nut- 
tall,  preferring  those  which  were  used  by  our  early 
writers  on  Ornithology,  because  the  species  can  be 
more  easily  identified  by  those  than  by  the  Greek  names 
applied  to  them  in  the  new  nomenclature. 

My  essays  are  not  biographies  of  the  Birds.  I  treat 
of  them  chiefly  as  songsters,  and  speak  only  of  those 
habits  which  render  them  useful,  interesting,  or  pic- 
turesque. I  have  confined  myself  principally  to  my 
own  personal  observations,  but  have  freely  quoted  from 
several  authors.  I  ought  to  remark  in  this  place  that 
I  am  much  indebted  to  Mr.  John  Burroughs,  whose 
essays  on  Birds  and  kindred  subjects  in  "The  At- 
lantic  Monthly"  I   formerly  read  with  great   pleasure. 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

Mr.  Burroughs  is  confessedly  the  most  graphic  and  en- 
tertaining of  our  authors  on  Ornithology.  I  regret  that 
I  had  not  seen  his  book,  "  Wake  Kobin,"  before  this 
volume  was  in  type,  as  the  perusal  of  it  would  have 
improved  my  own  pages. 

I  would   remind   the   reader  that   some   parts  of  my 
book  have  previously  appeared  in  print. 

WILSON    FLAGG. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

[Printed  by  the  Heliotype  Process,  after  Views  from  Nature.] 

Page 
The  old  Homestead  of  General  Putnam,  in  Danyers       Frontispiece. 

View  op  Charles  River  from  the  Farm  of  Mr.  Anthony  Hol- 

brook,  in  auburndale 43 

Scene  near  Fresh  Pond,  in  Cambridge,  on  Concord  Turnpike  83 

View  of  Neponset  River  in  Mattapan 118 

View  in  Lynn,  looking  through  a  Vista  of  Trees  on  a  Descend- 
ing Road 164 

Old  Road,  as  seen  from  the  Hill  leading  to  Spot  Pond,  on 

the  Route  from  Medford  to  Stoneham 202 

Scene  on  Bass  River,  in  Ryall  Side,  Beverly  ....  218 

Mill  Scene  in  Boxford 277 

View  of  Landscape,  including  the  South  Side  of  Captain  Enoch 

Wood's  Estate,  in  West  Boxford 333 

View  of  old  Winding  Road  in  North  Andover        .        .        .  364 

"Den  Rock,"  in  Andover,  on  the  old  Salem  Turnpike       .        .  403 

View  of  Birch  Brook,  in  Lynn 431 


THE  BIEDS  AND  SEASONS  OF  NEW 

ENGLAND. 


MUSIC   OF  BIEDS. 

Among  civilized  people  those  are  the  most  cheerful 
and  happy,  if  possessed  of  a  benevolent  heart  and  favored 
with  the  ordinary  gifts  of  fortune,  who  have  acquired  by 
habit  and  education  the  power  of  deriving  pleasure  from 
the  objects  that  lie  immediately  around  them.  But  these 
sources  of  happiness  are  open  to  those  only  who  are  en- 
dowed with  sensibility,  and  who  have  received  a  favora- 
ble intellectual  training.  The  more  ordinary  the  mental 
and  moral  organization  and  culture  of  the  individual,  the 
more  far-fetched  and  dear-bought  must  be  his  enjoyments. 
Nature  has  given  us  in  full  development  only  those  appe- 
tites which  are  necessary  to  our  physical  well-being.  She 
has  left  our  moral  powers  and  affections  in  the  germ,  to 
be  developed  by  education  and  reflection.  Hence  that 
serene  delight  that  comes  chiefly  from  the  exercise  of  the 
imagination  and  the  moral  sentiments  can  be  felt  only 
by  persons  of  superior  and  peculiar  refinement  of  mind. 
The  ignorant  and  rude  are  dazzled  and  delighted  by  the 
display  of  gorgeous  splendor,  and  charmed  by  loud  and 
stirring  sounds.  But  the  more  simple  melodies  and  less 
attractive  colors  and  forms,  that  appeal  to  the  imagination 
for  their  principal  effect,  are  felt  only  by  individuals  of  a 
poetic  temperament. 

1  A 


2  MUSIC   OF   BIRDS. 

In  proportion  as  we  have  been  trained  to  be  agreeably 
affected  by  the  outward  forms  of  nature  and  the  sounds 
that  proceed  from  the  animate  aud  the  inanimate  world 
are  we  capable  of  being  happy  without  resorting  to  vulgar 
and  costly  recreations.  Then  will  the  aspects  of  nature, 
continually  changing  with  the  progress  of  the  seasons,  and 
the  songs  that  enliven  their  march,  satisfy  that  craving 
for  agreeable  sensations  which  would  otherwise  lead  us 
away  from  humble  and  healthful  pursuits  to  those  of  an 
artificial  and  exciting  life.  The  value  of  these  pleasures 
of  sentiment  is  derived  not  so  much  from  their  cheapness 
as  from  their  favorable  moral  influences,  that  improve 
and  pleasantly  exercise  the  mind  without  tasking  its 
powers.  Those  quiet  emotions,  half  musical  and  half 
poetical,  which  are  awakened  by  the  songs  of  birds,  be- 
long to  this  class  of  refined  enjoyments. 

But  the  music  of  birds,  though  delightful  to  all,  con- 
veys active  and  durable  pleasure  only  to  those  who  have 
learned  to  associate  with  their  notes,  in  connection  with 
the  scenes  of  nature,  a  crowd  of  interesting  and  romantic 
images.  To  many  persons  of  this  character  it  affords 
more  delight  than  the  most  brilliant  music  of  the  concert 
or  the  opera.  In  vain  will  it  be  said  as  an  objection,  that 
the  notes  of  birds  have  no  charm  save  that  of  association, 
and  do  not  equal  the  melody  of  a  simple  reed  or  flag- 
eolet. It  is  sufficient  to  reply  that  the  most  delight- 
ful influences  of  nature  proceed  from  sights  and  sounds 
that  appeal  to  a  poetic  sentiment  through  the  medium  of 
slight  and  almost  insensible  impressions  made  upon  the 
eye  and  the  ear.  At  the  moment  when  these  physical 
impressions  exceed  a  certain  mean,  the  spell  is  broken, 
and  the  enjoyment,  if  it  continues,  becomes  sensual,  not 
intellectual.  How  soon,  indeed,  would  the  songs  of  birds 
pall  upon  the  ear  if  they  were  loud  and  brilliant  like 
a  band  of  instruments.  It  is  simplicity  that  gives  them 
their  charm. 


MUSIC   OF   BIRDS.  3 

As  an  illustration  of  the  truth  of  this  remark,  I  would 
say  that  simple  melodies  have  among  all  people  exercised 
a  greater  power  over  the  imagination,  though  producing 
less  pleasure  to  the  ear,  than  louder  and  more  complicated 
music.  Nature  employs  a  very  small  amount  of  physical 
agency  to  create  sentiment,  and  when  an  excess  is  used 
a  diminished  effect  is  produced.  I  am  persuaded  that  the 
effect  of  our  sacred  music  is  injured  by  an  excess  of  har- 
mony or  too  great  a  volume  of  sound.  A  loud  crash  of 
thunder  deafens  and  terrifies,  but  its  low  and  distant  rum- 
bling produces  a  pleasant  emotion  of  sublimity. 

The  songs  of  birds  are  as  intimately  allied  with  poetry 
as  with  music.  "  Feathered  Lyric "  is  a  name  that  has 
been  applied  to  the  Lark  by  one  of  the  English  poets ; 
and  the  analogy  is  apparent  when  we  consider  how  much 
the  song  of  this  bird  resembles  a  lyrical  ballad  in  its 
influence  on  the  mind.  Though  the  song  of  a  bird  is 
without  words,  how  plainly  does  it  suggest  a  long  train 
of  agreeable  images  of  love,  beauty,  friendship,  and  home  ! 
When  a  young  person  is  affected  with  grief,  he  seldom 
fails,  if  endowed  with  a  sensitive  mind,  to  listen  to  the 
birds  as  sympathizers  in  his  affliction.  Through  them 
the  deities  of  the  grove  seem  to  offer  him  their  conso- 
lation. By  his  companionship  with  the  objects  of  nature 
all  pleasing  sights  and  sounds  have  become  anodynes  for 
his  sorrow ;  and  those  who  have  this  mental  alembic  f<  ir 
turning  grief  into  poetic  melancholy  cannot  be  reduced 
to  despondency.  This  poetic  sentiment  exalts  our  pleas- 
ures and  soothes  our  afflictions  by  some  illusive  charm, 
derived  from  religion  or  romance.  Without  this  reflection 
of  light  from  poetry,  what  is  the  passion  of  love,  and 
what  our  love  of  beauty,  but  a  mere  gravitation  ? 

The  music  of  birds  is  modulated  in  pleasant  unison 
with  all  the  chords  of  affection  and  imagination,  filling 
the  soul  with  a  lively  consciousness  of  beauty  and  de- 


4  MUSIC   OF   BIRDS. 

light.  It  soothes  us  with  romantic  visions  of  love  when 
an  ethereal  sentiment  of  adoration  as  well  as  a  passion, 
and  of  friendship  when  a  passion  and  not  an  expediency. 
It  reminds  us  of  dear  and  simple  adventures,  and  of  the 
comrades  who  had  part  in  them ;  of  dappled  mornings 
and  of  serene  and  glowing  sunsets ;  of  sequestered  nooks 
and  of  sunny  seats  in  the  wild  wood ;  of  paths  by  the 
waterside,  and  of  flowers  that  smiled  a  bright  welcome 
to  our  rambling ;  of  lingering  departures  from  home,  and 
of  old  by-ways  hedged  with  viburnums  and  overshadowed 
by  trees  that  spread  their  perfume  around  our  path  to 
gladden  our  return.  By  this  pleasant  instrumentality 
has  Nature  provided  for  the  happiness  of  all  who  have 
learned  to  be  delighted  with  her  works,  and  with  the 
sound  of  those  voices  which  she  has  appointed  to  com- 
municate to  the  human  soul  the  joys  of  the  inferior 
creation. 


BIRDS   OF  THE  GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD. 

I. 

The  singing-birds  whose  notes  are  familiar  to  us  in 
towns  and  villages  and  in  the  suburbs  of  cities  are  stran- 
gers to  the  deep  woods  and  solitary  pastures.  Our  familiar 
birds  follow  in  the  wake  of  the  pioneer  of  the  wilderness, 
and  increase  in  numbers  with  the  clearing  and  settlement 
of  the  country,  not  from  any  feeling  of  dependence  on  the 
protection  of  man,  but  from  the  greater  supply  of  insect 
food  caused  by  the  tilling  of  the  ground.  It  is  well  known 
that  the  labors  of  the  farmer  cause  an  excessive  multipli- 
cation of  all  those  insects  whose  larvse  are  cherished  in  the 
soil,  and  of  all  that  infest  the  garden  and  orchard.  The 
farm  is  capable  of  supporting  insects  in  the  ratio  of  its 
capacity  for  producing  fruit.  These  will  multiply  with 
their  means  of  subsistence  contained  in  and  upon  the 
earth  ;  and  birds,  if  not  destroyed  by  man,  will  increase 
with  the  insects  that  constitute  their  food. 

Hence  we  may  explain  the  fact,  which  often  excites 
surprise,  that  more  singing-birds  are  seen  in  the  suburbs 
of  a  great  city  than  in  the  deep  forest,  where,  even  in  the 
vocal  season,  the  silence  is  sometimes  melancholv.  The 
species  which  are  thus  familiar  in  their  habits,  though 
but  a  small  part  of  the  whole  number,  include  nearly  all 
the  singing-birds  that  are  known  to  the  generality  of  our 
people.  These  are  the  birds  of  the  garden  and  orchard. 
There  are  many  other  species,  wild  and  solitary  in  their 
habits,  which  are  delightful  songsters  in  the  uncultivated 
regions  lying  outside  of  the  farm.  Even  these  are  rare 
in  the  depths  of  the  forest.     They  live  on  the  edge  of  the 


6  BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD. 

wood  and  the  half-wooded  pasture.  The  birds  of  the  gar- 
den and  orchard  have  been  frequently  described,  and  are 
very  generally  known,  though  but  little  has  been  said  of 
their  powers  and  peculiarities  of  song.  In  the  sketches 
that  follow  I  have  given  particular  attention  to  the  vocal 
powers  of  the  different  birds,  and  have  attempted  to 
designate  the  part  that  each  one  performs  in  the  grand 
hymn  of  Nature. 

THE   SONG-SPARROW. 

The  Song-Sparrow,  one  of  our  most  familiar  birds, 
claims  our  first  attention  as  the  earliest  visitant  and 
latest  resident  of  all  the  tuneful  band,  and  one  that  is 
universally  known  and  admired.  He  is  plain  in  his  ves- 
ture, undistinguished  from  the  female  by  any  superiority 
of  plumage.  He  comes  forth  in  the  spring  and  takes  his 
departure  in  the  autumn  in  the  same  suit  of  russet  and 
gray  by  which  he  is  always  identified.  In  March,  before 
the  violet  has  ventured  to  peep  out  from  the  southern 
slope  of  the  pasture  or  the  sunny  brow  of  the  hill,  while 
the  northern  skies  are  liable  at  any  hour  to  pour  down 
a  storm  of  sleet  and  snow,  the  Song-Sparrow,  beguiled 
by  southern  winds,  has  already  appeared,  and  on  still 
mornings  may  be  heard  warbling  his  few  merry  notes, 
as  if  to  make  the  earliest  announcement  of  his  arrival. 
He  is  therefore  the  true  harbinger  of  spring ;  and,  if  not 
the  sweetest  songster,  he  has  the  merit  of  bearing  to  man 
the  earliest  tidings  of  the  opening  year,  and  of  proclaim- 
ing the  first  vernal  promises  of  the  season.  As  the  notes 
of  those  birds  that  sing  only  in  the  night  come  with  a 
double  charm  to  our  ears,  because  they  are  harmonized 
by  silence  and  hallowed  by  the  hour  that  is  sacred  to 
repose,  in  like  manner  does  the  Song-Sparrow  delight  us 
in  tenfold  measure,  because  he  sings  the  sweet  prelude  to 
the  universal  hymn. 


BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD.  7 

His  haunts  are  fields  half  cultivated  and  bordered  with 
wild  shrubbery.  He  is  somewhat  more  timid  than  the 
Hair-Bird,  that  comes  close  up  to  our  doorsteps  to  find 
the  crumbs  that  are  swept  from  our  tables.  Though  his 
voice  is  constantly  heard  in  the  garden  and  orchard,  he 
selects  a  retired  spot  for  his  nest,  preferring  not  to  trust 
his  progeny  to  the  doubtful  mercy  of  the  lords  of  crea- 
tion. In  some  secure  retreat,  under  a  tussock  of  moss  or 
a  tuft  of  low  shrubbery,  the  female  sits  upon  her  nest 
of  soft  dry  grass,  containing  four  or  five  eggs  of  a  green- 
ish-white surface  covered  with  brownish  specks.  Begin- 
ning in  April,  she  rears  two  and  often  three  broods  during 
the  season,  and  her  mate  prolongs  his  notes  until  the  last 
brood  has  flown  from  the  nest. 

The  notes  of  the  Song-Sparrow  would  not  entitle  him 
to  rank  with  our  principal  singing- birds,  were  it  not  for 
the  remarkable  variations  in  his  song,  in  which  I  think 
he  is  equalled  by  no  other  bird.  Of  these  variations 
there  are  six  or  seven  that  may  be  distinctly  recognized, 
differing  enough  to  be  considered  separate  tunes,  but  they 
are  all  based  upon  the  same  theme.  The  bird  does  not 
warble  these  in  regular  succession.  It  is  in  the  habit  of 
repeating  one  of  them  several  times,  then  leaves  it  and 
repeats  another  in  a  similar  manner.  Mr.  Charles  S. 
Paine,  of  East  Randolph,  Massachusetts,  was,  I  believe, 
the  first  to  observe  this  habit  of  the  Song-Sparrow.  He 
took  note,  on  one  occasion,  of  the  number  of  times  a  par- 
ticular bird  sang  each  of  the  tunes.  As  he  had  numbered 
them,  the  bird  sang  No.  1,  21  times ;  No.  2,  36  times  ; 
No.  3,  23  times  ;  No.  4,  19  times  ;  No.  5,  21  times ;  No. 
6,  32  times  ;  No.  7,  18  times.  He  made  the  same  ex- 
periment with  a  dozen  different  individuals  ;  and  was 
confident  from  these  trials  that  each  male  lias  his  seven 
songs,  or  variations  of  the  theme,  and  they  are  all  equally 
irregular  in  the  order  of  singing  them. 


8  BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN   AND   ORCHARD. 

After  reading  Mr.  Paine's  letter,  I  listened  carefully  to 
the  Song-Sparrow,  in  the  summer  of  1857,  that  I  might 
learn  to  distinguish  the  different  tunes,  as  reported  by 
him.  I  had  never  thought  of  it  before;  but  in  less 
than  a  week  I  could  distinctly  recognize  the  whole  seven, 
and  was  convinced  that  his  observations  were  perfectly 
correct.  It  is  remarkable  that  when  one  powerful  singer 
takes  up  a  particular  tune,  other  birds  in  the  vicinity 
will  follow  with  the  same.  These  are  mostly  in  triple 
time,  some  in  common  time,  while  in  others  the  time 
could  not  be  distinguished.  Each  tune,  however,  con- 
sists of  four  bars  or  strains,  sometimes  five,  though  late 
in  the  season  the  song  is  frequently  broken  off  at  the 
end  of  the  third  strain.  This  habit  of  varying  his  notes 
through  so  many  changes,  and  the  singularly  fine  intona- 
tions °of  many  of  them,  entitle  the  Song-Sparrow  to  a 
very  high  rank  as  a  singing-bird. 

There  is  a  plain  difference  in  the  expression  of  these 
several  variations.     The  one  which  I  have  marked  No.  3 
is  very  plaintive,  and  is  in  common  time.     No.  2  is  the 
one  which  I  have  most  frequently  heard.     No.  5  is  quer- 
ulous and  unmusical.     There  is  a  remarkable  precision 
in  the  Song-Sparrow's  notes,  and  the  finest  singers  are 
those  which,  in  the  language  of  musicians,  display  the  least 
execution.     Some  blend  their  notes  together  so  rapidly 
and  promiscuously,  and  use  so  many  operatic  flourishes, 
that  if  all  were  like  them  it  would  be  impossible  to  distin- 
guish the  seven  different  variations  in  the  song  of  this  bird. 
Whether  these  tunes  of  the  Song-Sparrow  express  to 
his  mate  or  to  others  of  his  species  different  sentiments, 
and  convev  different  messages,  or  whether  they  are  the 
offspring  of  mere  caprice,  I  cannot  determine.     Nor  have 
I  learned  whether  a  certain  hour  of  the  day  or  a  certain 
state  of  the  weather  predisposes  the  bird  to  sing  a  par- 
ticular tune.     This  point  may  perhaps  be  determined  by 


BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN   AND   ORCHARD. 


some  future  observer,  who  may  discover  that  the  birds  of 
this  species  have  their  matins  and  their  vespers,  their 
songs  of  rejoicing  and  their  notes  of  complaint,  of  court- 
ship when  in  presence  of  their  mate,  and  of  encourage- 
ment and  solace  when  she  is  sitting  upon  her  nest.  Since 
Nature  has  a  benevolent  object  in  every  instinct  bestowed 
upon  her  creatures,  it  is  not  probable  that  this  habit  of 
the  Song-Sparrow  is  one  that  serves  no  important  end  in 
his  life  and  habits.  All  the  variations  of  his  song  are 
given  below ;  and  though  individuals  differ  in  their  sing- 
ing, the  notes  will  afford  a  good  general  idea  of  the  sev- 
eral tunes. 


No.  1.     Theme. 
— 9 9- 


P-P—P-G- 


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No.  2.    Brisk. 


guttural 


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No.  3.    Joyful. 


n_n_i 

9  9  99-99  99-9999 


No.  4.    Plaintive. 

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No.  5.    Fervent. 


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10  BIRDS    OF   THE    GARDEN   AND    ORCHARD. 


No.  7.    Brilliant. 


Xote.  —  The  notes  marked  guttural  seem  to  me  to  be  performed  by  a 
rapid  trilling  of  these  notes  with  their  octave.  No  bird  sings  constantly 
in  so  regular  time  as  is  represented  above,  and  the  intervals  between  the 
high  notes  are  very  irregular.  Both  the  time  and  the  tune  are  in  great 
measure  ad  libitum. 


THE  VESPER-SPARROW. 

Soon  after  the  arrival  of  the  Song-Sparrow,  "before  the 
flowers  are  yet  conspicuous  in  the  meadows,  we  are 
greeted  by  the  more  fervent  and  lengthened  notes  of  the 
Vesper-Bird,  poured  forth  with  a  peculiarly  pensive  mod- 
ulation. This  species  resembles  the  Song-Sparrow,  but 
may  be  distinguished  when  on  the  wing  by  two  white 
lateral  feathers  in  the  tail.  The  chirp,  or  complaining 
note,  of  the  Song-Sparrow  is  louder  and  pitched  on  a 
lower  key.  The  Vesper- Bird  is  the  less  familiar  of  the 
two,  and,  when  both  are  singing  at  the  same  time,  will 
be  seen  to  occupy  a  position  more  remote  from  the  house. 
In  several  places  they  are  distinguished  by  the  names  of 
Ground- Sparrow  and  Bush-Sparrow,  from  their  supposed 
different  habits  of  placing  their  nests.  I  believe,  how- 
ever, that  while  the  Song-Sparrow  always  builds  upon  the 
ground,  the  Vesper-Bird  builds  indifferently  upon  the 
ground  or  in  a  bush. 

The  Vesper-Bird,  of  the  two  species,  attracts  more 
general  attention  to  his  notes,  because  he  sings  a  longer 
though  more  monotonous  song,  and  warbles  with  more 
fervency.  His  notes  resemble  those  of  the  Canary,  but 
they  are  more  subdued  and  plaintive,  and  have  a  reedy 
sound  which   is  not  perceptible  in  the   Canary's   tones. 


BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND    ORCHARD.  11 

This  bird  is  somewhat  periodical  in  his  singing  habits, 
confining  his  lays  in  some  measure  to  certain  hours  of 
the  day  and  conditions  of  the  weather.  The  Song-Sparrow 
sings  about  equally  during  every  hour  from  morning  till 
night,  and  the  different  performers  do  not  always  join  in 
concert.  This  habit  renders  the  little  songster  more  com- 
panionable, but  at  the  same  time  causes  his  notes  to  be 
less  regarded  than  those  of  the  Vesper-Bird,  who  sin  _  ~ 
in  concert  with  others  of  his  kind,  and  at  more  regular 
periods. 

The  Vesper-Bird  joins  at  day-spring  with  all  his  kin- 
dred in  the  general  anthem  of  morn,  after  which  he  sings 
occasionally  during  the  day,  especially  at  an  hour  when 
it  is  still  and  cloudy,  but  most  fervently  during  the  sun's 
decline  until  dusk.  Hence  is  derived  the  name  it  bears, 
from  its  evening  hymn,  or  vespers.  There  are  particular 
states  of  the  weather  that  call  out  the  songsters  of  this 
species  and  make  them  tuneful,  as  when  rain  is  suddenly 
followed  by  sunshine,  or  when  a  clear  sky  is  suddenly 
darkened  by  clouds,  presenting  an  occasional  morn  and 
an  occasional  even.  In  this  respect  these  birds  are  not 
peculiar,  but  by  singing  together  in  numbers  their  habit 
is  more  noticeable.  We  seldom  hear  one  of  them  simnncr 
alone.  When  one  begins,  all  others  in  the  vicinity  im- 
mediately join  him. 

The  usual  resorts  of  the  Vesper-Bird  are  the  hayfields 
and  pastures,  from  which  he  has  derived  the  name  of 
Grass-Finch.  His  voice  is  heard  frequently  by  rustic 
roadsides,  where  he  picks  tip  a  considerable  part  of  his 
subsistence  ;  and  it  is  remarkable  that  this  songster  more 
frequently  sings  from  a  fence,  a  post,  or  a  rail  than  from 
a  tree  or  a  bush.  This  is  the  little  bird  that  so  generally 
serenades  us  during  an  evening  walk  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  town,  and  not  so  near  the  woods  as  the  haunts 
of  the  Thrushes.     When  we  go  out  into  the  country  on 


12       BIRDS  OF  THE  GARDEN  AND  ORCHARD. 

* 

pleasant  days  in  June  or  July,  at  nightfall  we  hear  mul- 
titudes of  them  singing  sweetly  from  many  different 
points  in  the  fields  and  farms. 

THE   HAIR-BIRD. 

A  gentle  and  harmless  little  bird,  attracting  attention 
chiefly  by  his  tameness  and  familiarity,  chirping  at  all 
hours,  but  without  a  very  melodious  song,  is  the  Hair- 
Bird,  belonging  to  the  family  of  Sparrows,  but  differing 
from  all  the  others  in  many  of  his  habits.  He  is  one  of 
the  smallest  of  the  tribe,  of  an  ashen-brown  color  above  and 
grayish-white  beneath.  He  wears  a  little  cap  or  turban 
of  velvety-brown  upon  his  head,  and  by  this  mark  he  is 
readily  distinguished  from  his  kindred.  Belying  on  his 
diminutive  size  for  security,  he  comes  quite  up  to  our 
doorstep,  mindless  of  the  people  who  are  assembled  near 
it,  and,  fearless  of  danger,  picks  up  the  scattered  crumbs 
and  seeds.  His  voice  is  not  heard  in  the  spring  so  early 
as  that  of  the  Song-Sparrow  and  the  Bluebird.  He  lives 
chiefly  upon  seeds,  though  like  other  granivorous  birds 
he  feeds  his  young  with  larva?.  This  is  a  general  practice 
among  the  seed-eaters,  in  order  to  provide  their  young  with 
soft  and  digestible  food.  Nature  has  provided  in  a  differ- 
ent manner,  however,  for  the  Pigeon  tribe.  The  parent 
bird  softens  the  food  in  its  own  crop  before  it  is  given  to 
the  offspring.  From  the  peculiar  manner  in  which  the 
young  are  fed  comes  the  expression  "  sucking  doves." 

It  is  common  to  speak  disparagingly  of  the  Hair-Bird, 
as  if  he  were  good  for  nothing,  without  beauty  and  with- 
out song.  He  is  despised  even  by  epicures,  because  his 
weight  of  flesh  is  not  worth  a  charge  of  powder  and  shot. 
Though  he  is  contemptuously  styled  the '"  Chipping-Spar- 
row,"  on  account  of  his  shrill  note,  this  name  I  shall 
never  consent  to  apply  to  him.  His  voice  is  no  mean 
accompaniment  to  the  general  chorus  which  may  be  heard 


BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD.  13 

on  every  still  morning  before  sunrise  during  May  and 
June.  His  continued  trilling  note  is  to  this  warblin^- 
band  like  the  octave  flute,  as  heard  in  a  grand  concert  of 
artificial  instruments.  The  voices  of  numbers  of  his  spe- 
cies, which  are  the  first  to  be  heard  and  the  last  to  become 
silent  in  the  morning,  serve  to  fill  up  the  pauses  in  this 
sylvan  anthem  like  a  running  accompaniment  in  certain 
musical  compositions.  How  little  soever  the  Hair-Bird 
may  be  valued  as  a  songster,  his  voice,  I  am  sure,  would 
be  most  sadly  missed,  were  it  nevermore  to  be  heard 
charmingly  blending  with  the  louder  voices  of  other  chor- 
isters. 

How  often,  on  still  sultry  nights  in  summer,  when  hardly 
a  breeze  was  stirring,  and  when  the  humming  of  the  moth 
might  be  plainly  heard  as  it  glided  by  my  open  window, 
have  I  been  charmed  by  the  note  of  this  little  bird,  ut- 
tered trillingly  from  the  branch  of  a  neighboring  tree.  He 
seems  to  be  the  sentinel  whom  Nature  has  appointed  to 
watch  for  the  first  gleam  of  dawn,  which  he  always  faith- 
fully announces  before  any  other  bird  is  awake.  Two  or 
three  strains  from  his  octave  pipe  are  the  signal  for  a  gen- 
eral awakening  of  the  birds,  and  one  by  one  they  join  the 
song,  until  the  whole  air  resounds  with  an  harmonious 
medley  of  voices. 

The  Hair-Bird  has  a  singular  habit  of  sitting  on  the 
ground  while  thus  chirping  at  early  dawn  ;  but  I  am 
confident  he  is  perched  in  a  tree  during  the  night.  The 
nest  is  most  frequently  placed  upon  an  apple-tree,  or 
upon  some  tall  bush,  seldom  more  than  ten  feet  from  the 
ground.  I  have  found  it  in  the  vinery  upon  the  trunk 
of  an  elm.  It  is  very  neatly  constructed  of  the  fibres 
of  roots  firmly  woven  together,  and  beautifully  lined  with 
fine  soft  hair,  whence  his  name.  It  is  unsurpassed  in  neat- 
ness and  beauty  by  the  nest  of  any  other  bird.  The  eggs 
are  four  in  number,  of  a  pale  blue  with  dark  spots. 


14  BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD. 


THE   AMERICAN   GOLDFINCH. 

During  all  the  pleasant  days  of  autumn,  when  the 
thistle  and  sunflower  are  ripening  their  seeds,  after  the 
songs  of  the  birds  have  ceased,  and  we  greet  them  only 
as  friends  after  the  concert  is  over,  we  hear  the  plaintive 
chirping  of  the  Hemp-Birds,  and  see  the  frequent  flashing 
of  their  golden  plumage  among  the  thistles  and  golden- 
rods.  Like  butterflies  they  are  seen  in  all  the  open  past- 
ures and  meadows  that  abound  in  compound  flowers,  not  in 
flocks,  but  scattered  in  great  numbers,  and  always,  when 
flying  from  one  field  to  another,  uttering  their  singularly 
plaintive  but  cheerful  cry.  This  is  so  sweetly  modulated 
that,  when  many  of  them  are  assembled,  the  songs  of 
early  summer  seem  to  be  temporarily  revived.  They  are 
very  familiar  and  active,  always  flitting  about  our  flower- 
gardens  when  they  abound  in  marigolds  and  asters. 

The  Hemp-Bird  bears  considerable  resemblance  to  the 
Canary  in  his  habits  and  the  notes  of  his  song.  Being 
deficient  in  compass  and  variety,  he  cannot  be  ranked 
with  the  finest  of  our  songsters.  But  he  has  great  sweet- 
ness of  tone,  and  is  equalled  by  few  birds  in  the  rapidity 
of  his  execution.  His  note  of  complaint  is  also  like  that 
of  the  Canary,  and  is  heard  at  almost  all  times  of  the 
year.  He  utters,  when  flying,  a  rapid  series  of  notes 
during  the  repeated  undulations  of  his  flight,  and  they 
seem  to  be  uttered  with  each  effort  lie  makes  to  rise. 

The  female  does  not  build  her  nest  before  the  first 
broods  of  the  Robin  and  the  Song-Sparrow  have  flown. 
Mr.  Augustus  Fowler,  of  Danvers,  thinks,  from  his  ob- 
servation of  the  habits  of  these  birds  when  feeding 
their  young,  that  the  cause  of  this  delay  is  "  that  they 
would  be  unable  to  find  in  the  spring  those  milky  seeds 
which  are  the  necessary  food  for  their  young,"  and  takes 
occasion  to  allude  to  that  beneficent  law  of  Nature  pro- 


BIRDS    OF    THE    GARDEN   AND    ORCHARD.  15 

viding  that  these  birds  "should  not  bring  forth  their 
young  until  the  time  when  the  seeds  used  by  them  for 
food  have  passed  into  the  milk,  and  may  be  easily  dis- 
solved by  the  stomach." 

These  little  birds  are  remarkable  for  associating  at  a 
certain  season,  and  singing  as  it  were  in  choirs.  "During 
spring  and  summer,"  says  Mr.  Fowler,  "  they  rove  about 
in  small  flocks,  and  in  July  will  assemble  together  in  con- 
siderable numbers  on  a  particular  tree,  seemingly  for  no 
other  purpose  than  to  sing.  These  concerts  are  held  by 
them  on  the  forenoon  of  each  day  for  a  week  or  ten  days, 
after  which  they  soon  build  their  nests.  I  am  inclined 
to  believe  that  this  is  the  time  of  their  courtship,  and 
that  they  have  a  purpose  in  their  meetings  beside  that  of 
singing.  If  perchance  one  is  heard  in  the  air,  the  males 
utter  their  call-note  with  great  emphasis,  particularly  if 
the  new-comer  be  a  female ;  and  while,  in  her  undulating 
flight,  she  describes  a  circle  preparatory  to  alighting,  they 
will  stand  almost  erect,  move  their  heads  to  the  right  and 
left,  and  burst  simultaneously  into  song." 

While  engaged  in  these  concerts  it  would  seem  as  if 
they  were  governed  by  some  rule  that  enabled  them  to 
time  their  voices,  and  to  swell  or  diminish  the  volume  of 
sound.  Some  of  this  effect  is  undoubtedly  produced  by 
the  gradual  manner  in  which  the  different  voices  join  in 
harmony,  beginning  with  one  or  two  and  increasing  their 
numbers  in  rapid  succession,  until  all  are  singing  at  once, 
and  then  in  the  same  gradual  manner  becoming  silent 
One  voice  leads  on  another,  the  numbers  multiplying, 
until  they  make  a  loud  shout  which  dies  away  gradually, 
and  a  single  voice  winds  up  the  chorus.  These  concerts 
are  repeated  at  intervals  for  several  days,  ending  probably 
with  the  period  of  courtship. 

A  singular  habit  of  the  Hemp-Bird  is  that  of  building 
a  nest,  and  then  tearing  it  to  pieces,  before  any  eggs  have 


16       BIRDS  OF  THE  GARDEN  AND  ORCHARD. 

been  laid  in  it,  and  using  tlie  materials  to  make  a  new 
nest  in  another  place.  "When  I  was  a  student  I  repeat- 
edly observed  this  operation  in  some  Lombardy  poplars 
that  grew  before  my  study  windows.  I  thought  the  male 
bird  only  addicted  to  this  habit,  and  that  it  might  be  his 
method  of  amusing  himself  before  his  mate  is  ready  to 
occupy  the  nest.  This  is  made  of  cotton,  the  down  of 
the  fern,  and  other  soft  materials  woven  together  with 
threads  or  the  fibres  of  bark,  and  lined  with  cow's-hair. 
It  is  commonly  placed  in  the  fork  of  the  slender  branches 
of  a  maple,  linden,  or  poplar,  and  is  fastened  to  them  with 
singular  ingenuity. 


THE   PURPLE  FINCH   OR  AMERICAN  LINNET. 

The  American  Linnet  is  almost  a  new  acquaintance  of 
many  people  in  Eastern  Massachusetts.  In  my  early  days, 
which  were  passed  in  Essex  County,  I  seldom  met  one  in 
my  rambles.  It  is  now  very  common  in  this  region,  and 
has  been  more  generally  observed  since  the  custom  of 
planting  the  spruce  and  the  fir  in  our  gardens  and  enclos- 
ures. The  Linnet,  though  not  early  in  building  its  nest, 
is  sometimes  heard  to  sing  earlier  even  than  the  Song- 
Sparrow.  I  have  frequently  heard  his  notes  in  March ; 
and  once,  in  a  mild  season,  I  heard  one  warbling  cheer- 
ily on  the  18th  of  February.  But  the  Linnet  does  not 
persevere  like  the  Song-SparrowT  and  other  early  birds. 
He  may  sing  on  a  fine  day  in  March,  and  you  may  not 
hear  him  again  before  the  middle  of  April.  Soon  after 
that  time  he  becomes  a  verv  constant  singer. 

The  notes  of  this  bird  are  very  simple  and  melodious, 
delivered  without  precision,  and  different  individuals  dif- 
fer exceedingly  in  capacity.  It  is  generally  believed  that 
the  young  males  are  the  best  singers,  and  that  age  dimin- 
ishes their  vocal  powers.     This  is  the  supposition  of  Mr. 


BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD.  17 

Nuttall ;  but  I  have  not  been  able  to  test  the  truth  of  it 
by  my  own  observation.  The  greater  number  utter  only 
a  few  strains,  resembling  the  notes  of  the  Brigadier. 
These  are  constantly  repeated  during  the  greater  part  of 
the  clay.  The  song  usually  consists  of  four  or  five  strains, 
very  much  alike ;  but  when  the  bird  is  animated  he  mul- 
tiplies his  notes  ad  libitum,  varying  the  modulation  only 
by  greater  emphasis.  I  have  not  observed  that  the  Lin- 
net is  more  prone  to  sing  in  the  morning  and  evening 
than  at  any  other  hour. 

The  Linnet  is  a  somewhat  eccentric  bird  in  his  ways. 
He  is  usually  high  up  in  an  elm  or  other  tall  tree  when 
he  sings,  and  almost  out  of  sight,  like  the  Brigadier. 
Hence  he  is  as  often  heard  in  the  elms  in  the  city  as 
in  the  country.  He  sings  according  to  no  rules,  at  no 
particular  hour  of  the  clay,  with  but  little  regard  to  sea- 
son, and  utters  notes  that  are  wholly  wanting  in  precision. 
His  song  is  without  a  theme,  and  seems  to  be  a  sort  of 
fantasia.  He  may  often  be  seen  sitting  on  a  fence  war- 
bling with  ecstasy  and  keeping  his  wings  in  rapid  vibra- 
tion all  the  while.  He  is  also  regardless  of  the  mischief 
he  may  do.  He  feeds  upon  the  flower-buds  of  the  elm 
and  then  upon  those  of  the  pear-tree,  thus  damaging  our 
gardens  and  keeping  himself  at  a  safe  distance  from  the 
angry  horticulturist  after  he  has  concluded  his  feast. 

I  have  seen  the  Linnet  frequently  in  confinement, 
which  he  very  cheerfully  bears  ;  but  he  will  not  sing 
if  he  be  placed  near  a  Canary-Bircl,  nor  does  he  at  any 
time  sing  so  well  as  in  a  state  of  freedom.  He  likewise 
changes  his  plumage;  and  soon,  instead  of  a  little  brown 
bird  with  crimson  neck,  you  see  one  variously  mottled 
with  brown  and  buff.  The  finest  and  most  prolonged 
strains  are  delivered  by  the  Linnet  while  on  the  wing. 
On  such  occasions  only  does  he  sing  with  fervor.  While 
perched  on  a  tree  his  song  is  usually  short  and  not  greatly 

B 


18  BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD. 

varied.  I  think  there  may  be  less  difference  than  is  com- 
monly supposed  in  the  powers  of  individuals,  and  that 
the  songs  of  the  same  warbler  vary  with  his  feelings. 
If  you  closely  watch  one  on  a  tree  while  singing,  he 
may  be  observed  suddenly  to  take  flight,  and  while  pois- 
ing himself  in  the  air,  though  still  advancing,  to  pour  out 
a  continued  strain  of  melody  with  all  the  rapture  of  a 
Skylark. 

The  male  American  Linnet  is  crimson  on  the  head, 
neck,  and  throat,  dusky  on  the  upper  parts  of  his  body, 
and  beneath  somewhat  straw-colored.  It  is  remarkable 
that  some  of  the  males  are  wanting  in  the  crimson  head 
and  neck,  being  plainly  clad,  like  the  female.  These  are 
supposed  to  be  old  birds,  and  the  loss  of  color  is  attrib- 
uted to  age.  I  am  doubtful  of  this,  for  it  can  hardly 
be  supposed  that  any  bird  can  escape  the  gunner  long 
enough  to  become  gray  with  age.  The  only  nests  of  this 
bird  which  I  have  seen  were  upon  spruce-trees.  The 
eggs  are  of  a  pale  green  with  dark  spots  of  irregular 
size. 

THE  PEABODY-BIRD. 

In  the  northern  parts  of  New  England  only  are  the 
inhabitants  familiar  with  the  habits  of  the  Peabody-Bird, 
or  White-throated  Sparrow.  I  have  seen  it,  however, 
in  Cambridge  ;  and  during  a  season  when  the  currant- 
worm  was  very  destructive,  one  individual  came  fre- 
quently into  my  garden  and  employed  himself  in  pick- 
ing the  caterpillars  from  a  row  of  currant-bushes.  As 
the  fruit  was  then  ripened,  or  partially  ripe,  his  appear- 
ance so  late  in  the  season  led  me  to  infer  that  he  had 
probably  a  nest  somewhere  in  the  Cambridge  woods. 
This  is  a  large  Sparrow,  and  a  very  fine  singing-bird. 
Samuels  says :  "  The  song  of  this  species  is  very  beauti- 
ful.   It  is  difficult  of  description,  but  resembles  nearly  the 


BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD. 


19 


syllables  'chea,  dee  cle  ;  de-d-de,  de-d-de,  de-d-de,  de-d-de, 
uttered  first  loud  and  clear,  and  rapidly  falling  in  tone 
and  decreasing  in  volume.  This  is  chanted  during  the 
morning  and  the  latter  part  of  the  day.  I  have  often 
heard  it  at  different  hours  of  the  night,  when  I  have  been 
encamped  in  the  deep  forest,  and  the  effect  at  that  time 
was  indescribably  sweet  and  plaintive.  The  fact  that 
the  bird  sings  often  in  the  night  has  given  it  the  name 
of  the  Nightingale  in  many  places,  and  the  title  is  well 
earned." 

The  inhabitants  of  Maine  mention  this  bird  as  sin^in^ 
late  in  the  season.  This  is  caused  by  his  delay  in  build- 
ing his  nest,  which  is  not  done  before  June.  The  words 
used  by  the  Peabody-Bird  in  his  song  are  thus  described 
in  that  State  :  — 


I^ZZfai 4-jtML 


a-a* — *— rl 


All       day        whittling,      whittling,        whittling,     whittling. 


THE  EAELY  FLOWERS. 

Among  the  vernal  flowers  are  usually  classed  all  those 
which  in  propitious  seasons  are  open  during  the  month 
of  April,  like  the  ground-laurel,  the  draba  verna,  and 
the  hepatica,  also  during  the  month  of  May,  like  the 
anemones,  violets,  bellworts,  and  .Solomon's  seals,  which 
are  among  the  true  Mayflowers.  Within  the  space  of 
these  two  months  the  most  delicate  and  interesting  flow- 
ers of  the  whole  year  come  to  perfection,  beginning  with 
the  epigsea  and  hepatica,  and  bringing  along  in  their  rear 
myriads  of  bellworts,  ginsengs,  anemones,  saxifrages,  and 
columbines,  until  the  procession  is  closed  by  the  cranes- 
bill,  that  leads  forth  the  brilliant  host  of  summer. 

The  vernal  flowers  are  mostly  herbaceous  and  minute. 
They  grow  in  sheltered  situations  on  the  southern  slopes 
of  declivities  and  the  sunny  borders  of  a  wood,  and  re- 
quire but  a  short  period  of  heat  and  sunshine  to  per- 
fect their  blossoms.  They  are  generally  pale  in  their 
tints,  many  of  them  white,  and  often  tinged  with  deli- 
cate shades  of  blue  or  lilac.  The  anemones  of  our  woods 
are  our  true  Mayflowers.  They  seldom  appear  before  the 
first  of  May,  and  there  is  hardly  a  solitary  one  to  be  seen 
after  the  first  week  in  June.  The  ground-laurel,  vul- 
garly called  [Mayflower,  is  usually  in  perfection  in  the 
middle  of  April,  and,  except  very  far  north,  is  out  of 
bloom  by  the  middle  of  May.  There  are  some  of  our 
early  flowers  that  remain  in  perfection  during  a  part  of 
the  summer,  until  they  lose  their  charms  by  constantly 
intruding  themselves  upon  our  notice.    Such  are  the  com- 


THE   EARLY   FLOWERS.  21 

mon  buttercups,  which  are  favorites  of  children  when 
they  first  appear,  but  shine  like  gilded  toys,  and  .sym- 
bolize no  charming  sentiment  to  endear  them  to  our 
sight. 

One  of  the  earliest  flowers  of  April,  appearing  about 
two  weeks  later  than  the  ground -laurel,  on  the  sunny 
slope  of  a  hill  that  is  protected  by  woods,  and  continuing 
to  put  forth  its  delicate  blossoms  during  about  five  weeks 
from  its  first  appearance,  is  the  hepatica,  or  liverwort. 
They  are  the  flowers  that  have  generally  rewarded  my 
earliest  botanical  rambles,  and  every  year  I  behold  them 
with  increased  delight.  They  are  often  seen  in  crowded 
clusters,  half  concealed  by  dry  oak-leaves,  that  were  ele- 
vated by  the  flowers  as  they  developed  their  petals.  They 
vary  in  color  from  purple  or  lilac  to  lighter  shades  of 
the  same  tints.  Appearing  in  heads  that  often  contain 
more  than  twenty  flowers,  they  form  a  pleasing  contrast 
with  the  little  wood  anemones  that  spangle  the  mossy 
knolls  with  their  solitary  drooping  blossoms.  The  rue- 
leaved  anemone  differs  from  both  of  these.  More  lively 
in  its  appearance  than  either,  it  bears  several  upright 
flowers  upon  one  stalk,  with  such  a  look  of  animation 
that  they  seem  to  smile  upon  us  from  their  green,  shady 
nooks. 

Not  the  least  charming  of  our  Mayflowers  is  the 
houstonia,  which  has  no  English  name  that  has  become 
popular.  As  early  as  the  middle  of  May  its  flowers  are 
often  so  thickly  strewn  over  the  fields  as  at  a  distance 
to  resemble  a  thin  veil  of  snow.  This  plant  is  almost 
as  delicate  as  the  finer  mosses,  and  its  flowers,  though 
minute,  are  rendered  conspicuous  by  the  brilliant  golden 
hue  of  their  centre,  that  melts  into  the  cerulean  white- 
ness of  the  corolla.  About  the  first  of  May  a  few  flow- 
ers of  this  species  peep  out  from  the  ground,  as  in 
early   evening   a   few   stars  are   seen  twinkling  through 


22  THE   EARLY   FLOWERS. 

the  diminishing  light.  They  multiply  until  they  glitter 
in  the  meads  and  valleys  like  the  heavenly  hosts  at 
midnight.  By  degrees  they  slowly  disappear  until  June 
scatters  them  from  the  face  of  the  earth,  as  morning 
disperses  the  starry  lights  of  the  firmament.  It  may 
seem  remarkable  that  the  earliest  flowers  that  come  up 
under  a  frosty  sky,  and  are  often  enveloped  in  snow, 
should,  notwithstanding  this  apparently  hardening  expos- 
ure, exceed  all  others  in  delicacy.  Such  are  the  ground- 
laurel,  the  anemone,  and  the  houstonia,  among  our  native 
plants,  and  the  snowdrop,  the  crocus,  and  the  hyacinth, 
among  exotics. 

Children,  who  are  unaffected  lovers  of  flowers,  have 
always  shown  a  preference  for  those  of  early  spring, 
when  they  are  more  attractive  on  account  of  their  nov- 
elty, and  seem  more  beautiful  as  the  harbingers  of  a 
warmer  season.  After  the  earth  has  remained  bleak  and 
desolate  for  half  the  year,  every  beautiful  thing  in  nature 
has  a  renewed  charm  when  it  reappears,  and  a  single 
violet  by  the  wayside  inspires  a  little  child  with  more 
delight  than  he  would  feel  if  surrounded  by  a  whole  gar- 
den of  flowers  in  summer. 

Parties  of  young  children  are  annually  called  out  by 
the  first  warm  sunshine  in  May  to  hunt  for  early  flowers. 
The  botanist  is  also  out  among  the  birds  and  children, 
peeping  into  green  dells,  under  shelving  rocks,  or  in 
sunny  nooks,  brushing  away  the  dry  autumn  leaves  to 
find  the  pale  blue  liverwort,  dipping  his  hands  into  crys- 
tal streams  for  aquatic  plants,  or  examining  the  droop- 
ing branches  of  the  andromeda  for  its  rows  of  pearly 
gems.  He  thinks  not  meanly  of  his  pursuit,  though  lie 
finds  for  his  companions  the  village  children,  and  the 
poor  herb  woman,  who  is  gathering  salads  for  the  market. 
From  her  lips  he  may  obtain  some  important  knowledge, 
and  derive  a  moral  hint  that  the  sum  of  our  enjoyments 


THE  EARLY  FLOWERS.  23 


zo 


is  proportional  to  the  simplicity  of  our  habits  and  pur- 
suits, and  that  this  poor  herbwoman,  who  lives  chiefly 
under  the  open  windows  of  heaven,  enjoys  more  happi- 
ness than  many  envied  persons  who  are  prisoned  in  a 
palace  and  shackled  with  gold.  By  talking  with  the 
children  he  may  learn  the  locality  of  some  rare  plant,  a 
new  phase  in  the  aspect  of  nature,  or  discover  some  for- 
gotten charm  that  once  hovered  round  certain  old  famil- 
iar scenes  to  whose  cheering  influence  he  had  become 
blunted,  but  which  is  now  revived  by  witnessing  its 
effects  on  the  susceptible  minds  of  the  young. 

We  have  to  lament  in  this  climate  the  absence  of  many 
beautiful  flowers  which  are  associated  in  our  minds  with 
the  opening  of  spring  by  our  familiarity  with  English  lit- 
erature. We  search  in  vain  over  our  green  meads  and 
sunny  hillsides  for  the  daisy  and  the  cowslip,  that  spangle 
the  fields  in  Great  Britain  and  gladden  the  sight  of  the 
English  cottager.  We  have  read  of  them  until  they  seem 
like  the  true  tenants  of  our  own  fields ;  and  when  on  a 
pleasant  ramble  we  do  not  find  them,  there  is  a  void  in 
the  landscape,  and  the  fields  seem  to  be  wanting  in  their 
fairest  ornaments.  Thus  poetry,  while  it  inspires  the  mind 
with  sentiments  that  increase  the  sum  of  our  happiness, 
often  binds  our  affections  to  objects  we  can  never  behold 
and  shall  never  caress.  The  daisy  and  cowslip  are  remem- 
bered in  our  reading  as  the  bright-eyed  children  of  Spring, 
and  they  emblemize  those  little  members  of  our  former 
family  circle  of  whom  we  have  heard  but  have  never 
seen,  who  exist  only  in  the  pensive  history  of  the  youth- 
ful group  whose  number  is  imperfect  without  them. 

In  our  gardens  only  do  we  find  the  pensive  snow- 
drop, the  poetic  narcissus,  the  crocus,  and  the  hyacinth. 
There  only  is  the  pansy,  or  tri-colored  violet,  which  adorns 
the  fresh  chaplets  of  April  and  blends  its  colors  with  the 
yellow  sheaves  of  autumn.     There  only  are  the  lily  of 


24  THE  EARLY   FLOWERS. 

the  valley,  the  white  Bethlehem  star,  and  the  blue-eyed 
periwinkle.  The  heath  is  neither  in  our  fields  nor  in 
our  gardens.  The  flowers  of  classic  lands  and  many  plants 
which  are  sacred  to  the  muse  are  not  in  the  fields  and 
valleys  of  the  new  continent.  Our  native  flowers,  for  the 
most  part,  are  rendered  sacred  only  by  the  recollections 
of  childhood,  not  by  poetry  or  romance.  The  anemone, 
the  houstonia,  and  the  bellwort  look  up  to  us  from  their 
mossy  beds  full  of  the  light  of  the  happy  days  of  our 
youth;  but  the  flowers  which  have  been  sung  by  the 
Grecian  or  Eoman  muse  belong  to  other  climes,  and 
our  fields  do  not  know  them. 


EOCKS. 

It  is  not  necessary  that  an  object  should  be  intrinsi- 
cally beautiful,  like  a  collection  of  water,  to  add  a  pleas- 
ing feature  to  the  landscape.  Though  rocks  considered 
apart  from  Nature  are  unsightly,  no  scenery  is  complete 
without  them.  To  a  prospect  they  afford  variety  which 
it  would  be  difficult  to  obtain  from  any  other  objects. 
Without  them  there  is  a  want  of  those  sudden  transitions 
from  the  smooth  to  the  rough,  from  the  level  to  the  pre- 
cipitous, from  the  beautiful  to  the  wild,  and  from  the 
tame  to  the  expressive,  which  are  essential  to  a  perfect 
landscape.  It  is  only  among  rocks  that  the  evergreen 
ferns,  those  beautiful  accompaniments  of  a  rustic  retreat, 
are  found  growing  abundantly.  There  is  no  more  beauti- 
ful sight  than  a  series  of  almost  perpendicular  rocks  cov- 
ered on  all  sides  by  ferns,  with  their  peculiarly  graceful 
foliage,  and  here  and  there  a  rill  trickling  down  their  sur- 
face and  forming  channels  through  the  evergreen  mosses. 
The  solitary  glens  formed  by  these  rocks  could  not  be  imi- 
tated by  any  artifice ;  and  their  jutting  precipices  afford 
prospects  unequalled  by  the  gentle  elevations  of  a  roll  in, g 
landscape.  In  a  country  where  rocks  are  wanting,  the 
land  rises  and  sinks  in  gradual  declivities,  and  prospects 
are  difficult  to  be  obtained  except  from  lofty  elevations. 

There  is  so  much  that  is  attractive  in  the  abruptness 
of  rocky  scenery,  especially  when  half  covered  by  trees 
and  other  vegetation,  that  some  authors  have  attributed 
its  picturesque  character  to  its  rudeness  and  roughness. 
I  should  attribute  this  interesting  expression  to  the  mani- 

2 


26  ROCKS. 

fest  facility  which  abrupt  situations  afford  both  for  pros- 
pect and  for  pleasant  secluded  retreats.  Large  clefts 
produced  by  the  parting  of  the  two  sides  of  an  enor- 
mous rock  furnish  dells,  —  often  perfect  gardens  of  wild- 
flowers,  —  bursting  on  the  sight  like  an  oasis  on  a  dry 
waste.  In  these  places  there  is  always  a  remarkable 
verdure,  as  the  rains  that  pour  clown  the  slopes  conduct 
fertility  to  the  soil  at  their  base.  A  rocky  surface,  there- 
fore, is  productive  of  a  greater  variety  of  shrubs  and  wild- 
flowers  than  a  plain  or  rolling  country  of  similar  soil 
and  climate. 

There  are  many  plants  whose  native  localities  are  the 
tops  and  sides  of  rocky  cliffs  and  precipices.  Such  are  the 
saxifrage,  the  cistus,  the  toadflax,  and  the  beautiful  pedate 
violet.  The  graceful  Canadian  columbine  is  found  chiefly 
among  the  clefts  of  rocks,  like  a  little  tender  animal,  nest- 
ling under  their  protection,  and  drawing  nourishment 
from  the  soil  that  has  accumulated  in  their  hollows.  To 
satisfy  ourselves  of  the  number  and  variety  of  plants  that 
may  grow  spontaneously  upon  a  single  rock,  let  us  con- 
struct one  in  fancy  thus  enamelled  by  the  hand  of  Nature. 

We  will  picture  to  ourselves  a  craggy  precipice,  rising 
thirty  or  forty  feet  out  of  a  wet  meadow,  and  forming 
in  its  irregular  ascent  many  oblique  and  perpendicular 
sides,  which  have  collected  upon  their  upper  surface  sev- 
eral inches  of  soil.  A  grove  of  pines  and  birches  covers 
the  summit,  with  an  undergrowth  of  various  shrubs,  such 
as  the  whortleberry,  the  wood-pyrus,  the  spiraea,  and 
the  mountain  andromeda.  Here,  too,  the  bayberry  and 
sweet  fern  mingle  their  fragrance  with  the  odors  of  the 
pines.  The  rocks,  in  the  driest  places,  are  covered  with  a 
bedding  of  gray  lichen,  which  is  a  perfect  hygrometer, 
breaking  like  glass  under  our  footsteps  when  the  atmos- 
phere is  dry,  but  yielding  like  velvet  when  it  contains  the 
least  moisture.     The  cup-moss  grows  abundantly  along 


ROCKS.  27 

with  it,  and  in  moist  situations  the  green,  delicate  hair- 
moss,  the  same  that  covers  the  roofs  of  very  old  buildings. 
The  rain  has  washed  down  from  the  summit  constant  de- 
posits from  trees  and  shrubs,  birds  and  quadrupeds,  and 
formed  a  superficies  of  good  soil  on  all  parts  of  the  rock 
where  it  could  be  retained.  On  the  almost  bare  surface 
grows  the  beautiful  feather-grass,  supported  only  by  the 
soil  that  has  accumulated  about  its  roots. 

The  mountain-laurel  luxuriates  upon  these  natural  ter- 
races, by  which  we  descend  to  the  meadow  at  the  base 
of  the  rock.  But  this  evergreen,  with  its  magnificent 
clusters  of  flowers,  is  not  the  most  attractive  object,  for 
the  little  springs  that  issue  from  the  crevices  of  the  rock 
have  brought  out  a  variety  of  ferns  and  lycopodiums  that 
cover  its  sides  with  their  green  fronds,  like  the  tiles  on  the 
roof  of  a  house.  Some  oaks  and  beeches  project  fantasti- 
cally from  the  sides  of  the  cliff,  which  is  covered  with  in- 
numerable vines.  Beside  the  beautiful  things  that  cluster 
at  our  feet,  and  the  little  winged  inhabitants  native  to 
the  situation,  made  attractive  by  their  various  forms, 
colors,  and  motions,  this  rock  gives  additional  extent  to 
the  prospect  of  the  surrounding  country,  and  affords 
many  different  views  from  the  various  openings  through 
its  wood  and  shrubbery. 

Such  are  the  beauties  and  advantages  multiplied  about 
a  mere  rock.  But  in  my  description  I  have  omitted  to 
notice  the  grotto  formed  by  the  shelving  of  rocks,  so  de- 
lightful to  the  traveller  who  seeks  shelter  from  the  sultry 
heat  of  noon,  or  to  one  who  only  wishes  to  gratify  a 
poetic  sentiment.  Bocky  scenery  cannot  fail  to  suggest 
to  the  mind  the  various  scenes  and  incidents  of  romantic 
adventure ;  and  I  believe  the  difficulties  and  dangers  it 
presents  to  the  traveller  magnify  the  interest  attending 
it.  I  have  often  seen  a  whole  party  eager  to  obtain  pos- 
session of  a  flower  that  was  pTowinq-  out  of  the  ed^e  of  a 


28  BOCKS. 

rocky  cliff.  Each  one  would  feel  a  desire  to  climb  upon 
its  sides,  and  to  obtain  a  resting-place  upon  its  dangerous 
summit.  These  circumstances  stimulate  the  adventurous 
spirit,  and  become  picturesque  when  represented  on  can- 
vas, by  affording  the  same  agreeable  excitement  to  the 
imagination.  Hence  the  imaginative  as  well  as  the  ad- 
venturous  are  delighted  with  this  kind  of  scenery,  that 
arouses  the  enterprise  of  the  one  and  awakens  the  poetical 
feelings  of  the  other.  What  do  we  care  for  a  scene,  how- 
ever  beautiful,  which  is  so  tame  as  to  offer  no  exercise  for 
the  imagination?  Rocks,  by  increasing  the  inequalities 
of  the  surface,  proportionally  multiply  the  ideas  and  im- 
ages that  are  associated  with  a  landscape. 

It  is  not  an  uninteresting  inquiry,  why  a  prospect 
beheld  from  a  rocky  cliff  yields  us  more  pleasure  than 
the  same  beheld  from  an  even  slope.  Is  it  more  poetical, 
when  we  partake  of  any  such  enjoyment,  to  be  discon- 
nected from  objects  immediately  around  us  ?  Or,  when 
standing  upon  a  rock  that  projects  from  the  surface  of 
the  ground,  may  we  not  experience  an  illusive  feeling  of 
elevation  ?  On  the  northern  coast  of  Massachusetts  Bay 
are  many  grand  and  delightful  views  of  the  ocean  from 
points  on  the  neighboring  hills  and  eminences.  Some  of 
these  views  are  unsurpassed  in  beauty.  I  have  repeatedly 
observed  that  parties  of  pleasure,  when  making  an  excur- 
sion on  the  hills,  are  not  satisfied  with  a  view  of  the  sea 
and  the  landscape  until  they  have  beheld  it  from  some 
towering  rock.  There  is  probably  a  poetic  feeling  of 
isolation  attending  us  when  standing  upon  a  rock  that 
increases  the  emotions,  whether  of  beauty  or  sublimity, 
which  are  excited  by  the  prospect. 

Any  one  who  has  rambled  over  the  bald  hills  that 
bound  this  shore  can  bear  witness  to  the  power  of  such 
rude  scenery  to  magnify  the  sentiments  that  spring  from 
the  aspect  of  desolation.     They  are  felt  in  these  places, 


ROCKS.  29 

unaccompanied  by  the  melancholy  that  attends  us  on 
surveying  a  wide  scene  of  ruins.  Here  the  appearance 
of  desolation  is  sufficient  to  produce  a  sentiment  of  grand- 
eur ;  but  while  surrounded  by  the  evidences  appearing 
in  a  distant  view  of  a  fertile  and  prosperous  country,  we 
are  equally  affected  with  a  sense  of  cheerful  exaltation. 
The  most  beautiful  garden  that  wealth  and  taste  could 
design  would  not  afford  so  much  of  the  luxury  of  senti- 
ment as  a  ramble  over  these  bald  hills  affords  to  one 
whose  mind  is  rightly  attuned  for  such  enjoyments.  It 
is  evident  that  the  hills  without  the  rocks  would  be  des- 
titute of  one  of  their  most  charming  features.  From  the 
sight  of  the  rocks  comes  likewise  that  feeling  of  alliance 
with  the  past  ages  of  the  world  which  tends  greatly  to 
elevate  the  mind  with  sentiments  of  grandeur. 

The  New  England  stone-wall,  as  a  feature  in  landscape 
scenery,  is  generally  considered  a  deformity ;  yet  it  can- 
not be  denied  that  the  same  lines  of  wooden  fence  would 
mar  the  beauty  of  our  prospect  in  a  still  greater  degree. 
On  account  of  the  loose  manner  in  which  the  stones  are 
laid  one  upon  another,  as  well  as  the  character  of  the 
materials,  this  wall  harmonizes  with  the  rude  aspects  of 
nature  better  than  any  kind  of  masonry.  It  seems  to  me 
less  of  a  deformity  than  a  trimmed  hedge  or  any  other 
kind  of  a  fence,  except  in  ornamented  grounds,  of  which 
I  do  not  treat.  In  wild  pastures  and  lands  devoted  t<> 
common  rustic  labor,  the  stone-wall  is  the  most  pictu- 
resque boundary-mark  that  has  }^et  been  invented.  A 
trimmed  hedge  in  such  places  would  present  to  the  eye 
an  intolerable  formality. 

One  of  the  charms  of  the  loose  stone-wall  is  the  mani- 
fest ease  with  which  it  may  be  overleaped.  It  menaces 
no  infringement  upon  our  liberty.  When  we  look  abroad 
upon  the  face  of  a  country  subdivided  only  by  long  lines 
of  loose  stones,  and  overgrown  by  vines  and  shrubbery, 


30  EOCKS. 


we  feel  no  sense  of  constraint.  The  whole  boundless 
prospect  is  ours.  An  appearance  that  cherishes  this  feel- 
ing of  liberty  is  essential  to  the  beauty  of  landscape ;  for 
no  man  can  thoroughly  enjoy  a  scene  from  which  he  is 
excluded.  Fences  are  deformities  of  prospect  which  we 
are  obliged  to  use  and  tolerate.  But  the  loose  stone-wall 
only  is  expressive  of  that  freedom  which  is  grateful  to 
the  traveller  and  the  rambler. 

It  may  be  remarked  that  no  inconsiderable  share  of  the 
interest  added  to  a  prospect  by  the  presence  of  rocks 
arises  from  their  connection  with  the  past  ages  of  the 
world.  They  are  indeed  the  monuments  of  the  antedilu- 
vian period ;  and  no  man  who  is  acquainted  with  the 
most  commonly  received  geological  facts,  when  wandering 
among  these  relics  of  the  mysterious  past,  can  fail  to  be 
inspired  with  those  emotions  of  sublimity  that  proceed 
less  from  the  creations  of  poetry  than  from  the  wonders 
of  science. 


MAKCH. 

To  the  inhabitants  of  a  variable  climate,  like  our  own, 
the  weather  is  at  all  times  one  of  the  most  interesting 
themes  of  speculation  ;  but  at  no  period  of  the  year  does 
it  come  more  directly  liome  to  our  feelings  than  in  March. 
We  know  that  there  is  a  new  sign  in  the  heavens,  and 
the  altitude  of  the  sun  in  his  meridian  seems  plainly  to 
assure  us  of  the  comforts  of  spring.  But  the  aspect  of 
the  heavens  is  constantly  changing,  the  winds  ever  veer- 
ing, clouds  alternating  with  sunshine,  wind  with  calm, 
and  rain  with  snow ;  so  that  we  are  never  sure,  on  a 
bland  morning  in  March,  when  the  sun  is  shining  almost 
with  the  fervor  of  summer,  that  we  may  not  be  overtaken 
by  a  snow-storm  before  noonday,  or  the  cold  of  the  Arctic 
Circle  before  sunset.  Any  one  of  the  three  winter  months, 
though  usually  cold  and  stormy,  may  once  in  a  few  years 
be  mild  and  pleasant  from  beginning  to  end  ;  but  March 
preserves  the  same  variable  and  boisterous  character  from 
year  to  year,  without  deviating  from  its  precedents.  It 
is  the  only  month  when  day's  harbingers  never  fulfil  their 
promises,  —  when  the  rosy  hours  that  come  up  with  the 
morning  and  the  fair  sisters  that  weave  the  garlands  of 
evening  are  all  deceivers. 

Though  the  present  time  is  nominally  the  spring  of 
the  year,  there  is  not  yet  a  flower  in  the  fields  or  gar- 
dens, and  the  buds  of  the  trees  are  hardly  swollen  with 
waking  vegetation.  The  wild-flowers  are  still  buried 
under  the  snows  and  ices  of  winter,  and  the  grass  has 
begun  to  look  green  only  under  the  southern  protection 


32  MARCH. 

of  the  walls  and  fences.  Many  of  the  early  birds,  fol- 
lowing the  southerly  winds  that  often  prevail  for  a  few 
days,  and  tempted  by  the  bright  sunshine  of  the  season, 
have  arrived  from  their  winter  haunts,  and  sing  and  chirp 
alternately,  as  if  they  were  debating  whether  to  remain 
here  or  return  to  a  more  genial  clime.  It  is  a  remark- 
able instinct  that  prompts  so  many  species  of  birds  to 
leave  their  pleasant  abiding-places  at  the  south,  where 
every  agreeable  condition  of  climate,  shelter,  and  pro- 
vision for  their  wants  is  present,  and  press  onward  into 
the  northern  regions,  before  the  rigors  of  winter  have 
been  subdued,  and  while  they  are  still  liable  to  perish 
with  cold  or  starvation.  Often  with  anxiety  have  I 
watched  these  little  bewildered  songsters  who  have  so 
unseasonably  returned,  when,  after  commencing  their 
morning  lays  as  if  they  believed  the  vernal  promises 
of  dawn,  they  were  obliged  to  flee  into  the  depths  of 
the  woods  to  find  shelter  from  a  driving  snow-storm. 

It  may  seem  remarkable  that  before  vegetation  has 
awakened  there  should  be  a  revival  of  some  of  the  in- 
sect tribes  ;  but  in  warm,  sheltered  situations  manv  small 
flies  may  be  seen,  either  newly  hatched  or  revived  by  the 
heat  of  the  sun.  They  do  not  seek  food,  but  crawl  about 
in  dry  places,  sometimes  rising  into  the  air  and  drowsily 
and  awkwardly  exercising  their  wings.  So  exposed  are 
these  minute  creatures  to  the  mercy  of  the  climate,  that 
Xature  has  made  them  insusceptible  of  injury  from  the 
severest  cold.  Many  species,  though  enclosed  in  a  mass 
of  solid  ice,  may  be  revived  by  gradual  heat  and  fly 
abroad  as  gayly  as  if  they  had  been  refreshed  by  sleep. 
But  the  period  of  life  assigned  to  the  insect  race  is  very 
short,  and  before  the  arrival  of  winter  the  brief  and  joy- 
ous existence  of  nearly  all  the  species  is  terminated,  and 
their  offspring  in  an  embryo  state  lie  torpid  until  a  new 
spring  awakes  them  into  life. 


MARCH.  33 

Our  climate,  being  a  discordant  mixture  of  the  weather 
of  two  opposite  latitudes  pouring  their  winds  alternately 
upon  our  territory,  is  the  most  variable  and  deceitful  in 
the  world.  Alternating  with  each  other  and  struererlins' 
as  it  were  for  the  mastery  are  two  winds,  —  one  that 
sweeps  across  the  Canadas  and  brings  with  it  the  cold 
of  the  polar  regions,  another  that  comes  from  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico  and  brings  here  the  summer  breezes  of  the 
tropics.  No  natural  barrier  is  interposed  to  check  their 
progress  whenever  any  meteoric  influence  may  urge  them 
onward.  The  prevalence  of  a  moderate  temperature  in 
this  part  of  the  country  during  a  calm,  either  in  spring 
or  autumn,  proves  this  to  be  the  true  weather  of  our  lati- 
tude. The  north  and  south  winds  are  intruders  that  spoil 
the  comfort  we  might  otherwise  enjoy  in  the  open  air 
at  all  seasons  except  the  three  months  of  winter.  Our 
climate  may,  therefore,  not  unaptly  be  compared  to  a 
village  that  is  peopled  by  quiet  and  peaceable  inhabit- 
ants, but  visited  by  troublesome  people  from  the  adjoining 
villages,  who  by  their  quarrels  with  each  other  keep  it  in 
a  constant  uproar,  leaving  the  villagers  only  an  occasional 
respite  during  their  absence. 

March  is  persistent  only  in  its  variableness.  If  it  be 
cold,  heat  will  soon  succeed ;  if  we  have  clouds,  they  will 
soon  bring  along  a  clear  sky.  We  see  none  of  those  mel- 
ancholy clouds,  so  common  in  the  latter  part  of  autumn, 
that  remain  for  weeks  brooding  over  the  landscape,  as  if 
the  heavens  were  hung  in  mourning  for  the  departure  of 
summer,  —  none  of  that  ominous  darkness  in  the  glens 
and  valleys,  denoting  that  the  sun  has  at  length  sur- 
rendered to  the  frosty  conqueror  of  the  earth.  Though 
March  is  colder,  it  has  more  light  than  November.  The 
sun  daily  increases  in  power,  and  the  snow  that  remains 
upon  the  earth  renders  the  effect  of  his  rays  more  brill- 
iant and  animating.  The  clouds  of  this  month  are  sel- 
2*  c 


34  MARCH. 

dom  motionless.  They  are  borne  along  rapidly  by  the 
brisk  winds,  now  enveloping  the  landscape  in  gloom, 
then  suddenly  illuminating  it  with  sunshine,  and  pro- 
ducing that  constant  play  of  light  and  shade  which  is 
peculiar  to  the  early  spring. 

During  the  occasional  days  of  pleasant  serenity  that 
occur  in  March,  we  begin  to  look  about  us  among  the- 
sheltered  retreats  in  the  woods  and  mountains,  to  watch 
the  earliest  budding  of  vegetation.  Seldom,  however,  do 
we  find  a  flower  outside  of  the  gardens  ;  but  many  a 
green  herb,  that  has  been  preserved  under  the  snow  or 
under  the  protection  of  shrubbery,  may  be  seen  creeping 
upon  the  surface,  and  spreading  its  delicate  verdure  upon 
the  brown  turfs.  There  the  leaves  of  the  strawberry 
and  the  cinqfoil  are  as  green  as  in  summer,  and  the 
tall  hypericum,  which  is  as  it  were  a  tree  in  summer, 
becomes  in  winter  and  spring  a  creeping  vine,  with  foli- 
age as  fine  as  that  of  a  heath.  At  such  times,  while  saun- 
tering about  the  fields,  rejoicing  in  what  seems  to  be  a 
true  revival  of  spring,  the  fierce  north-wind  begins  his 
raging  anew,  and  ere  another  morning  the  birds  lie  con- 
cealed in  the  depths  of  the  forest,  and  all  hearts  are 
saddened  by  the  universal  aspect  of  winter. 

The  change  that  has  taken  place  in  the  appearance 
of  the  sun  at  his  rising,  since  the  opening  of  this  month, 
may  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  usual  indications  of  the 
reviving  spring.  The  atmosphere,  on  clear  mornings,  is 
more  heavily  laden  with  vapors  than  is  usual  at  the 
same  hour  in  winter.  The  exhalations  of  the  preceding 
day  have  been  descending  in  frosty  dews  by  night  upon 
the  plains,  and  while  gathered  thickly  about  the  hori- 
zon yield  to  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  a  tint  of  purple 
and  violet,  like  the  dawn  of  a  summer  morning.  The 
sun  in  midwinter,  when  there  are  no  vapors  on  the  lakes 
and  meadows,  after  the  cold  winds  have  frozen  every 


MARCH.  35 

source  of  exhalant  moisture,  rises  into  a  clear,  transparent 
atmosphere.  As  spring  advances,  and  the  sun  rises  higher, 
the  evaporation  increases,  the  atmosphere  in  the  morning 
becomes  charged  with  prismatic  vapors,  and  every  mead 
and  valley  is  crowned  at  sunrise  with  wreaths  of  mist 
adorned  with  the  hues  of  the  rainbow.  The  crimson  haze 
that  accompanies  the  dawn  denotes  that  the  icy  fountains 
are  unlocked,  and  that  the  lakes  and  rivulets  are  again 
pouring  their  dewy  offerings  to  the  skies. 

March  is  an  unpleasant  month  for  rambling.  There 
is  but  little  to  tempt  the  lover  of  Nature,  in  either  field 
or  wood,  to  examine  her  treasures,  or  to  enjoy  the  lux- 
ury of  climate  ;  but  there  is  still  a  motive  for  roaming 
abroad,  though  it  were  but  to  watch  the  breaking  up 
of  the  ice,  and  to  mark  the  progress  of  the  thousands 
of  new-born  rivulets  that  leap  down  the  snowy  moun- 
tains toward  the  grand  reservoir  of  waters.  There  are 
places  always  to  be  found  which  are  inviting  to  the 
solitary  pedestrian  during  the  most  uncomfortable  sea- 
sons. The  fairy  hands  that  were  once  busy  in  spreading 
tints  upon  the  flowers  and  upon  the  heavens  still  toil 
unseen  in  their  deserted  places,  weaving  the  few  frag- 
ments of  remaining  beauty  upon  moss-grown  hillocks  and 
in  fern-embroidered  nooks. 

People  who  have  always  lived  in  the  interior  of  the 
country  can  have  only  a  feeble  conception  of  the  pleasure 
of  a  seaside  ramble,  which  is  during  this  month,  when 
the  west-winds  prevail  the  greater  part  of  the  time,  more 
agreeable  than  a  walk  in  the  open  plain.  Among  the 
lakes  and  rivers  and  hills  and  valleys  of  an  interior  land- 
scape, though  there  be  an  endless  variety  of  pastoral 
beauty,  there  is  nothing  that  will  compare  with  the  grand- 
eur of  a  water  prospect  from  the  sea-shore.  Neither  can 
such  a  view  be  fully  appreciated  by  those  who  have  be- 
held it  only  from  the  harbor  of  a  large  city,  where  the 


36  MARCH. 

works  of  art  cover  and  conceal  its  native  magnificence, 
and  withdraw  the  mind  from  those  poetic  thoughts  that 
would  be  awakened  by  an  unsophisticated  ocean-scene. 
We  must  go  forth  upon  the  solitary  shores,  at  a  distance 
from  all  artificial  objects,  and  walk  upon  the  high  bluffs 
that  project  far  enough  into  the  sea  to  afford  sight  of 
a  complete  hemisphere  of  waters,  to  obtain  a  just  idea 
of  a  sea-prospect.  When  we  look  from  the  deck  of  a 
sailing  ship,  where  nothing  on  any  side  is  to  be  seen  but 
the  ocean,  bounded  by  the  circle  that  seems  to  divide  the 
dark  blue  of  the  waters  from  the  more  ethereal  azure  of 
the  skies,  our  sublime  emotions  are  not  modified  by  any 
sensations  of  beauty  ;  but  when  this  blue  expanse  of 
waters  divides  the  prospect  equally  with  the  landscape 
that  is  spread  out  in  a  luxuriant  variety  of  wood,  plain, 
and  mountain,  the  emotions  excited  by  the  sublimity  of 
the  scene  are  softened  into  repose  by  the  beauty  and 
loveliness  of  the  opposite  prospect. 

But  the  sun  is  daily  rising  higher  into  the  zenith. 
The  blustering  winds  are  losing  their  force  and  are  yield- 
ing to  the  fate  that  awaits  them  inevitably  after  the  win- 
ter has  passed  away.  The  trees  bow  their  heads  less 
lowly  to  the  gales,  standing  more  and  more  erect,  as  if 
conscious  that  the  time  of  their  triumph  is  near,  and  that 
the  singing-birds  are  awaiting  the  opening  of  their  flow- 
ers and  the  unfolding  of  their  leaves.  The  infant  Spring 
is  fast  becoming  a  maiden  and  a  goddess,  and  the  herbs 
are  preparing  to  weave  garlands  for  her  virgin  brows, 
daisies  to  spread  at  her  feet,  and  ambrosial  incense,  such 
as  in  heaven  surrounds  the  presence  of  purity  and  holi- 
ness, to  gladden  her  coming.  Let  the  winds  rage,  and  the 
clouds  threaten  ;  we  know  that  soon  their  anger  will  be 
quelled  by  the  genial  sunshine  of  spring,  as  the  tumults 
in  the  human  breast  are  tranquillized  by  the  smiles  of 
innocence  and  beauty. 


SINGING-BIRDS. 

The  Singing-Birds,  with  reference  to  their  songs,  are 
distinguishable  into  four  classes:  —  The  Rapid  singers, 
whose  song  is  uninterrupted,  of  considerable  length,  and 
delivered  in  apparent  ecstasy;  the  Moderate  singers, 
whose  notes  are  slowly  modulated,  without  pauses  or  rests 
between  the  different  strains;  the  Interrupted  singers, 
who  sometimes  modulate  their  notes  with  rapidity,  but 
make  a  distinct  pause  after  each  strain.  The  Linnet  and 
the  Bobolink  are  examples  of  the  first  class  ;  the  com- 
mon Robin  and  the  Veery  of  the  second ;  the  Red 
Thrush  and  particularly  the  Hermit  Thrush  of  the  third. 
There  are  other  birds  whose  lay  consists  only  of  two  or 
three  notes,  not  sufficient  to  be  called  a  song.  The 
Bluebird  and  the  Golden  Robin  are  of  this  class. 

June,  in  this  part  of  the  world,  is  the  most  tuneful 
month  of  the  year.  Many  of  our  principal  songsters  do 
not  appear  until  near  the  middle  of  May ;  but  all,  wheth- 
er early  or  late,  continue  to  sing  throughout  the  month 
of  June.  The  birds  that  arrive  the  latest  are  not  always 
the  latest  in  returning.  The  period  of  time  they  occupy 
in  song  depends  chiefly  upon  the  number  of  broods  of 
young  they  raise  in  the  year.  If  they  raise  but  one  brood 
in  a  season,  their  period  of  song  is  short ;  if  they  raise 
two  or  more,  they  may  prolong  their  singing  into  August. 
Not  one  of  our  New  England  birds  is  an  autumnal  war- 
bler, though  the  Robin,  the  Wood-Sparrow,  and  the  Song- 
Sparrow  are  often  heard  after  the  first  of  September.  The 
tuneful  season  in  New  England  comprises  April,  May, 
and  the  three  summer  months. 


38  SINGING-BIRDS. 

There  are  certain  times  of  the  day,  as  well  as  certain 
seasons  of  the  year,  when  birds  are  most  musical.  The 
grand  concert  of  the  feathered  tribe  takes  place  during 
the  hour  between  dawn  and  sunrise.  During  the  remain- 
der of  the  day  until  evening  they  have  no  concerts. 
Each  individual  sings  according  to  its  habits,  but  we  do 
not  hear  them  collectively.  At  sunset  there  is  an  appar- 
ent attempt  to  unite  once  more  in  chorus,  but  this  is  far 
from  being  so  loud  or  so  general  as  in  the  morning,  when 
they  suffer  less  disturbance  from  man. 

There  are  but  few  birds  whose  notes  could  be  accu- 
rately described  upon  the  gamut.  We  seldom  perceive 
anything  like  artificial  pauses  or  true  musical  intervals 
in  their  time  or  melody.  Yet  they  have  no  deficiency 
of  musical  ear,  for  almost  any  singing-bird  when  young 
may  be  taught  to  warble  an  artificial  tune.  Birds  do  not 
dwell  steadily  upon  one  note  at  any  time.  They  are 
constantly  sliding  and  quavering,  and  their  songs  are 
full  of  pointed  notes.  There  are  some  species  whose 
lays,  like  those  of  the  Whippoorwill,  resemble  an  arti- 
ficial modulation,  but  these  are  rare.  In  general  their 
musical  intervals  cannot  be  accurately  distinguished  on 
account  of  the  rapidity  of  their  utterance.  I  have  often 
endeavored  to  transcribe  their  notes  upon  the  gamut,  but 
have  not  yet  been  able  to  communicate  to  any  person 
by  this  means  a  correct  idea  of  the  song,  except  in  a 
few  extraordinary  cases.  Such  attempts  are  almost  use- 
less. 

Different  individuals  of  certain  species  often  sing  very 
unlike  each  other ;  but  if  we  listen  attentively  to  a  num- 
ber of  them,  we  shall  detect  in  all  their  songs  a  theme, 
as  it  is  termed  by  musicians,  of  which  they  severally 
warble  their  respective  variations.  Every  song  of  any 
species  is,  technically  speaking,  a  fantasia  constructed 
upon  this  theme,  from  which,  though  they  may  greatly 


SINGING-BIRDS.  39 

vary  their  notes,  no  individual  ever  departs.  The 
theme  of  the  Song-Sparrow  is  easily  written  on  the 
gamut,  out  of  which  the  bird  makes  many  variations  ■ 
that  of  the  Robin's  song  is  never  more  than  slightly 
varied ;  but  1  have  not  been  able  to  detect  in  the  medley 
of  the  Bobolink  any  theme  at  all. 

The  song  of  birds  is  innate.  It  is  not  learned,  as 
some  have  supposed,  from  parental  instruction  ;  else 
why  should  not  a  Cowbird  sing  like  a  Vireo,  which  is 
sometimes  its  foster  parent,  and  would  undoubtedly,  if 
this  were  the  usual  custom,  be  as  willing  to  teach  the 
young  interloper  to  sing  as  to  supply  it  with  food  ?  Birds 
of  the  same  species  have  by  their  organization  a  dispo- 
sition to  utter  certain  sounds  when  under  the  influence 
of  certain  feelings.  If  the  young  bird  learned  of  its 
parents,  nature  would  have  made  the  female  the  singer 
instead  of  the  male,  who,  I  am  confident,  would  not 
trouble  himself  to  be  a  music-teacher,  and,  if  he  were 
willing  to  take  this  task  upon  him,  would  not  select 
the  males  only  to  be  his  pupils.  If  we  should  see  re- 
peated instances  of  the  exemplification  of  their  mode  of 
instruction,  —  if  we  should  see  the  young  birds  standing 
around  an  old  cock  Eobin  while  he  delivers  his  song, 
note  by  note,  for  the  young  to  imitate,  —  we  should 
have  some  reason  to  believe  that  all  male  singing-birds 
are  music-teachers  as  well  as  performers.  But  after  all, 
would  an  old  Bobolink  ever  have  patience  to  repeat  his 
notes  slowly  to  his  young  for  their  instruction  ? 

Many  birds  are,  however,  imitators  of  sounds,  and  will 
sometimes  learn  the  soir^s  of  other  birds  when  confined 
in  a  cage  near  them.  The  Bobolink  when  caged  near  a 
Canary  readily  learns  its  song,  but  in  a  wild  state  he 
never  deviates  from  his  own  peculiar  medley.  Nature 
has  provided  each  species  with  notes  unlike  those  of 
any  other  as  one  of  the  means  by  which  they  should 


40  SINGING-BIRDS. 

identify  their  own  kindred,  and  there  is  reason  to  believe 
that  if  one  of  them  had  never  heard  the  note  of  his  own 
parents  he  would  still  sing  like  all  his  predecessors.  In 
a  state  of  confinement  birds  will  occasionally  imitate  the 
notes  of  other  species,  and  in  this  respect  they  differ 
entirely  from  quadrupeds. 

The  song  of  birds  seems  to  be  the  means  used  by  the 
male,  not  only  to  woo  the  female,  but  to  call  her  to  him- 
self when  absent.  Before  he  has  chosen  his  mate  he 
sings  more  loudly  than  at  any  subsequent  period.  The 
different  males  of  the  same  species  seem  at  that  time 
to  be  vying  with  each  other,  and  the  one  that  has  the 
loudest  "and  most  varied  song  is  likely  to  be  the  first 
attended  by  a  mate.  When  the  two  birds  are  employed 
in  building  their  nest,  the  male  constantly  attends  his 
partner  and  sings  less  loudly  and  frequently  than  before. 
This  comparative  silence  continues  until  the  female  be- 
gins to  sit.  During  incubation  the  male  again  sings 
with  emphasis  at  his  usual  hours,  perched  upon  some 
neighboring  tree,  as  if  to  assure  her  of  his  presence,  but 
more  probably  to  entice  her  away  from  the  nest.  It  is 
a  curious  fact  that  male  birds  seem  to  be  displeased  to 
a  certain  extent  while  their  mate  is  sitting,  on  account 
of  her  absence,  and  are  more  than  usually  vociferous, 
sometimes  with  the  evident  intention  of  coquetting  with 
other  females. 

After  the  voung  brood  is  hatched  the  attention  of 
the  male  bird  is  occupied  with  the  care  of  his  off- 
spring, though  he  is  far  less  assiduous  in  his  parental 
duties  than  the  female.  If  we  watch  a  pair  of  Eobins 
when  they  have  a  nest  full  of  young  birds,  we  shall  see 
the  female  bring  the  greater  part  of  their  food.  The 
male  bird  continues  to  sing  until  the  young  have  left 
their  nest;  but  if  there  is  to  be  no  other  brood,  he 
becomes  immediately  silent.     If,  early  in  the  season,  a 


SINGING-BIRDS.  41 

couple  whose  habit  is  to  rear  but  one  brood  are  robbed 
of  their  nest,  they  will  make  a  new  one,  and  the  male 
in  this  case  continues  in  song  to  a  later  period  than  those 
who  were  not  disturbed. 

If  the  male  bird  loses  his  mate  during  incubation,  he 
seldom  takes  her  place,  but  becomes  once  more  very 
tuneful,  uttering  his  call-notes  loudly  for  several  days 
and  finally  changing  them  into  song.  It  would  seem, 
therefore,  that  the  song  of  the  bird  proceeds  in  some 
degree  from  discontent,  —  from  his  want  of  a  mate,  in 
the  one  case,  or  from  her  absence  when  she  is  sitting, 
in  the  other.  The  buoyancy  of  spirits  produced  by  the 
season  and  the  full  supply  of  his  physical  wants  are 
joined  with  the  pains  of  absence,  which  he  is  determined 
to  relieve  by  exerting  all  his  power  to  entice  his  partner 
from  her  nest.  I  have  often  thought  that  the  almost 
uninterrupted  song  of  caged  birds  proves  their  singing  to 
arise  from  a  desire  to  entice  a  companion  into  their  own 
little  prison.  Hence,  when  an  old  bird  from  our  fields 
is  caught  and  caged  during  the  breeding-season,  he  will 
continue  his  tunefulness  long  after  all  others  of  the  same 
species  have  become  silent.  The  Bobolink  in  a  state  of 
freedom  will  not  sing  after  the  middle  of  July  ;  but  if 
one  be  caught  and  caged,  he  will  continue  to  warble 
more  loudly  than  he  did  in  his  native  meadows  until 
September. 

It  is  generally  believed  that  singing-birds  are  chiefly 
confined  to  temperate  latitudes.  That  this  is  an  error 
is  apparent  from  the  testimony  of  travellers,  who  speak 
of  the  birds  of  Africa  and  of  the  Sandwich  Islands  as 
singing  delightfully;  and  some  fine  songsters  are  occa- 
sionally imported  from  tropical  countries.  It  should 
be  considered  that  in  these  hot  regions  the  birds  are 
more  scattered  and  are  not  so  well  known  as  those 
of   temperate   latitudes,  which   are   generally  inhabited 


42  SIXGIXG-BIKDS. 

by  civilized  man.  Savages  and  barbarians,  who  are  the 
principal  inhabitants  of  hot  countries,  are  seldom  ob- 
servant of  the  songs  or  habits  of  birds.  A  musician  of 
the  feathered  race,  no  less  than  a  human  singer,  must 
have  an  appreciating  audience  or  his  powers  could  not 
be  made  known  to  the  "world.  But  even  with  the  same 
audience,  the  tropical  birds  would  probably  be  less  es- 
teemed than  those  of  equal  merit  in  our  latitudes,  for 
amid  the  stridulous  and  deafening  sounds  from  insects 
in  warm  climates  the  notes  of  birds  are  scarcely  audible. 
Probably,  however,  the  comparative  number  of  singing- 
birds  is  greater  in  the  temperate  zone,  where  there  are 
more  of  those  species  that  build  low,  and  live  in  the 
shrubbery,  which  the  singing-birds  chiefly  frequent.  In 
warm  climates  the  birds  are  obliged  to  live  in  trees,  and 
the  vegetation  of  the  surface  of  the  ground  will  not  sup- 
port the  Finches  and  Buntings,  which  are  the  chief  sing- 
ers of  the  North. 


BIEDS   OF  THE   GARDEN"  AND   OECHAED. 


II. 


THE  VIREO. 

In  the  elms  on  Boston  Common,  and  in  all  the  lofty 
trees  of  the  suburbs,  as  well  as  in  the  country  villages, 
are  two  little  birds  whose  songs  are  heard  daily  and 
hourly,  from  the  middle  of  May  until  the  last  of  sum- 
mer. They  are  usually  concealed  among  the  highest 
branches  of  the  trees,  so  that  it  is  not  easy  to  obtain 
sight  of  them.  These  birds  are  two  of  our  Warbling 
Flycatchers,  or  Vireos ;  one  of  which  I  shall  designate 
as  the  Brigadier,  the  other  as  the  Preacher.  I  give  below 
the  song  of  the  Brigadier :  — 


i=to^ 


f  fy~F 


Brig  -  a 


dier, 


Brig  -  a 


dier, 


Brigate. 


The  notes  of  this  little  invisible  musician  are  few, 
simple,  and  melodious,  and,  being  often  repeated,  they 
are  very  generally  known  even  to  those  who  are  un- 
acquainted with  the  bird.  At  early  dawn,  at  noon,  and 
at  sunset  its  song  is  constantly  repeated  with  no  very 
long  intervals,  resembling,  though  delivered  with  more 
precision,  the  song  of  the  Linnet  or  Purple  Finch.  In 
my  boyhood,  when  I  had  no  access  to  a  book  descrip- 
tive of  our  birds,  and  very  seldom  killed  one  for  any  pur- 
pose, I  had  learned  nearly  all  the  songs  that  were  heard 
in  the  garden  or  wood,  without  knowing  the  physical 


44  BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD. 

characters  of  more  than  one  out  of  three  of  the  songsters  ; 
and  as  I  have  since  studied  the  markings  of  birds  only 
by  viewing  them  from  the  ground  as  they  were  perched 
upon  bush  or  tree,  and  have  never  killed  or  dissected 
one  for  this  purpose,  I  cannot  describe  all  the  specific 
or  generic  characters  of  our  birds.  I  am  well  acquainted 
with  two  of  our  Yireos ;  but  I  cannot  distinguish  them 
from  each  other  except  by  their  notes,  which  are  as 
familiar  to  me  as  the  voice  of  the  Eobin.  I  have,  there- 
fore, determined  to  name  them  according  to  the  style  of 
their  songs,  leaving  it  to  others  to  identify  the  species  to 
which  they  respectively  belong. 

The  Brigadier,  which  is  the  one,  I  think,  described  by 
Xuttall  as  the  Warbling  Vireo,  is  a  little  olive-colored 
bird,  that  occupies  the  lofty  tree-tops  while  singing  and 
hunting  his  food,  and  is  almost  invisible  as  he  is  flitting 
among  the  branches,  and  never  still.  The  Preacher  (Eed- 
eyed  Vireo)  arrives  about  a  week  or  ten  days  earlier  than 
the  Brigadier,  and  is  later  in  his  departure.  The  two  are 
very  similar,  both  in  their  looks  and  their  habits,  frequent- 
ing the  trees  in  the  town  and  its  suburbs  in  preference  to 
the  woods,  singing  at  all  hours  of  the  day,  particularly  at 
noon,  and  taking  their  insect  prey  from  the  leaves  and 
branches  of  the  trees,  or  seizing  it  as  it  flits  by  their 
perch,  and  amusing  themselves  while  thus  employed  with 
their  oft-repeated  notes.  Each  species  builds  a  pensile 
nest,  or  places  it  in  a  fork  of  the  slender  branches  of  a 
tree.  I  have  seen  a  nest  of  the  Brigadier  about  ten  feet 
from  the  ground  on  a  branch  of  a  pear-tree,  so  near  my 
chamber-window  that  I  might  have  reached  it  without 
difficulty.  The  usual  habit  of  either  species  is  to  sus- 
pend its  nest  at  a  very  considerable  height  from  the 
ground. 


BIRDS  OF  THE  GARDEN  AND  ORCHARD.       45 
THE  PREACHER. 

The  Preacher  is  more  generally  known  by  his  note, 
because  he  is  incessant  in  his  song,  and  particularly 
vocal  during  the  heat  of  our  long  summer  days,  when 
only  a  few  birds  are  singing.  His  style  of  preaching  is 
not  declamation.  Though  constantly  talking,  he  takes 
the  part  of  a  deliberative  orator,  who  explains  his  subject 
in  a  few  words  and  then  makes  a  pause  for  his  hearers 
to  reflect  upon  it.  We  might  suppose  him  to  be  repeat- 
ing moderately,  with  a  pause  between  each  sentence, 
"  You  see  it,  —  you  know  it,  —  do  you  hear  me  ?  —  do 
you  believe  it  ? "  All  these  strains  are  delivered  with  a 
rising  inflection  at  the  close,  and  with  a  pause,  as  if  wait- 
ing for  an  answer. 

The  tones  of  the  Preacher  are  loud  and  sharp,  hardly 
melodious,  modulated  somewhat  like  those  of  the  Kobin, 
though  not  so  continuous.  He  is  never  fervent,  rapid, 
or  fluent,  but,  like  a  true  zealot,  he  is  apt  to  be  tiresome, 
from  the  long  continuance  of  his  discourse.  He  pauses 
frequently  in  the  middle  of  a  strain  to  seize  a  moth  or  a 
beetle,  beginning  anew  as  soon  as  he  has  swallowed  his 
morsel.  Samuels  expresses  great  admiration  for  this  little 
bird.  "  Everywhere  in  these  States,"  he  remarks,  "  at  all 
hours  of  the  day,  from  early  dawn  until  evening  twilight, 
his  sweet,  half-plaintive,  half-meditative  carol  is  heard," 
and  he  adds,  that  of  all  his  feathered  acquaintances  this 
is  his  favorite.  The  prolongation  of  his  singing  season 
until  sometimes  the  last  week  in  August  renders  him  a 
valuable  songster.  When  nearly  all  other  birds  have  be- 
come silent,  the  little  Preacher  still  continues  his  earnest 
harangue,  and  is  sure  of  an  audience  at  this  late  period, 
when  he  has  but  few  rivals. 


4G       BIRDS  OF  THE  GARDEN  AND  ORCHARD. 


THE  BOBOLINK. 

There  is  not  a  singing-bird  in  New  England  that  en- 
joys the  notoriety  of  the  Bobolink.  He  is  like  a  rare 
wit  in  our  social  or  political  circles.  Everybody  is  talk- 
ing about  him  and  quoting  his  remarks,  and  all  are 
delighted  with  his  company.  He  is  not  without  great 
merits  as  a  songster  ;  but  he  is  well  known  and  admired 
because  he  is  showy,  noisy,  and  flippant,  and  sings  only 
in  the  open  field,  and  frequently  while  poised  on  the 
wing,  so  that  any  one  who  hears  can  see  him  and 
know  who  is  the  author  of  the  strains  that  afford  so 
much  delight.  He  sings  also  at  broad  noonday,  when 
everybody  is  out,  and  is  seldom  heard  before  sunrise, 
while  other  birds  are  joining  in  the  universal  chorus. 
He  waits  till  the  sun  is  up,  when  many  of  the  early  per- 
formers have  become  silent,  as  if  determined  to  secure 
a  good  audience  before  his  own  exhibition. 

In  the  grand  concert  of  Nature  it  is  the  Bobolink  who 
performs  the  recitative,  which  he  delivers  with  the  ut- 
most fluency  and  rapidity,  and  we  must  listen  carefully 
not  to  lose  many  of  his  words.  He  is  plainly  the  merriest 
of  all  the  feathered  creation,  almost  continually  in  motion, 
and  singing  on  the  wing  apparently  in  the  greatest  ecstasy 
of  joy.  There  is  not  a  plaintive  strain  in  his  whole  per- 
formance. Every  sound  is  as  merry  as  the  laugh  of  a 
young  child,  and  we  cannot  listen  to  him  without  fancy- 
ing him  engaged  in  some  jocose  raillery  of  his  compan- 
ions. If  we  suppose  him  to  be  making  love,  we  cannot 
look  upon  him  as  very  deeply  enamored,  but  rather  as 
highly  delighted  with  his  spouse  and  overflowing  with 
rapturous  admiration.  His  mate  is  a  neatly  formed  bird, 
with  a  mild  expression  of  face,  of  a  modest  deportment, 
and  arrayed  in  the  plainest  apparel.  She  seems  perfectly 
satisfied  with  observing  the  pomp   and  display   of   her 


BIRDS  OF  THE  GARDEN  AND  ORCHARD.       47 

partner,  and  listening  to  his  delightful  eloquence  of 
song.  If  we  regard  him  as  an  orator,  it  must  be  allowed 
that  he  is  unsurpassed  in  fluency  and  rapidity  of  utter- 
ance ;  if  only  as  a  musician,  that  he  is  unrivalled  in 
brilliancy  of  execution. 

I  cannot  look  upon  him  as  ever  in  a  very  serious 
humor.  He  seems  to  be  a  lively,  jocular  little  fellow, 
who  is  always  jesting  and  bantering;  and  when  half  a 
dozen  different  individuals  are  sporting  about  in  the  same 
orchard,  I  can  imagine  they  might  represent  the  persons 
dramatized  in  some  comic  opera.  The  birds  never  re- 
main stationary  upon  a  bough,  singing  apparently  for 
their  own  solitary  amusement ;  they  are  ever  in  com- 
pany, passing  to  and  fro,  often  beginning  their  song  upon 
the  extreme  end  of  an  apple-tree  bough,  then  suddenly 
taking  flight  and  singing  the  principal  part  while  bal- 
ancing themselves  on  the  wTing.  The  merriest  part  of 
the  day  with  these  birds  is  the  later  afternoon,  during 
the  hour  preceding  dewfall,  before  the  Robin  and  the 
Veery  begin  their  evening  hymn.  At  that  hour,  assem- 
bled in  company,  they  might  seem  to  be  practising  a 
cotillon  on  the  wing,  each  one  singing  to  his  own  move- 
ment as  he  sallies  forth  and  returns,  and  nothing  can 
exceed  their  apparent  merriment. 

The  Bobolink  begins  his  morning  song  just  at  sunrise, 
at  the  time  when  the  Eobin,  having  sum*  from  earliest 
daybreak,  is  near  the  close  of  his  performance.  Nature 
seems  to  have  provided  that  the  serious  parts  of  her 
musical  entertainment  in  the  morning  shall  first  be  heard. 
and  that  the  lively  and  comic  strains  shall  follow  them. 
In  the  evening  this  order  is  reversed,  and  after  the  com- 
edy is  concluded  Nature  lulls  us  to  repose  by  the  mellow 
notes  of  the  Vesper-Bird,  and  the  pensive  and  still  more 
melodious  strains  of  the  solitary  Thrushes. 

In  pleasant  shining  weather  the  Bobolink  seldom  flies 


48  BIRDS   OF  THE   GARDEN  AND    ORCHARD. 

without  singing,  often  hovering  on  the  wing  over  the 
place  where  his  mate  is  sitting  upon  her  ground-built 
nest,  and  pouring  forth  his  notes  with  the  greatest  loud- 
ness and  fluency.  Vain  are  all  the  attempts  of  other 
birds  to  imitate  his  truly  original  style.  The  Mocking- 
Bird  is  said  to  give  up  the  attempt  in  despair,  and  re- 
fuses to  sincj  at  all  when  confined  near  one  in  a  cage. 
The  Bobolink  is  not  a  shy  bird  during  the  breeding 
season  ;  but  when  the  young  are  reared  and  gathered  in 
flocks  the  whole  species  become  very  timid.  Their  food 
consists  entirely  of  insects  during  at  least  all  the  early 
part  of  summer.  Hence  they  are  not  frequenters  of 
the  woods,  but  of  the  fields  that  supply  their  insect 
food.  They  evidently  have  no  liking  for  solitude.  They 
join  with  their  own  kindred,  sometimes,  during  the 
breeding  season,  in  small  companies,  and  in  the  latter 
summer  in  large  flocks.  They  love  the  orchard  and  the 
mowing-field,  and  many  are  the  nests  which  are  exposed 
by  the  scythe  of  the  haymaker  when  performing  his  task 
early  in  the  season. 

THE   O'LINCON   FAMILY. 

A  flock  of  merry  singing-birds  were  sporting  in  the  grove  ; 
Some  were  warbling  cheerily  and  some  were  making  love. 
There  were  Bobolincon,  Wadolincon,  Winterseeble,  Conquedle,  — 
A  livelier  set  were  never  led  by  tabor,  pipe,  or  fiddle  :  — 
Crying,  "Phew,  shew,  Wadolincon  ;  see,  see  Bobolincon 
Down  among  the  tickle-tops,  hiding  in  the  buttercups  ; 
I  know  the  saucy  chap  ;  I  see  his  shining  cap 
Bobbing  in  the  clover  there,  — see,  see,  see  !  " 

Up  flies  Bobolincon,  perching  on  an  apple-tree ; 

Startled  by  his  rival's  song,  quickened  by  his  raillery. 

Soon  he  spies  the  rogue  afloat,  curvetting  in  the  air, 

And  merrily  he  turns  about  and  warns  him  to  beware  ! 

"  'T  is  you  that  would  a  wooing  go,  down  among  the  rushes  0  ! 

Wait  a  week,  till  flowers  are  cheery  ;  wait  a  week,  and  ere  you  marry, 

Be  sure  of  a  house  wherein  to  tarry  ; 

Wadolink,  Whiskodink,  Tom  Denny,  wait,  wait,  wait ! " 


BIRDS    OF    THE    GARDEN   AND    ORCHARD.  49 

Every  one  's  a  funny  fellow  ;  every  one  's  a  little  mellow  ; 
Follow,  follow,  follow,  follow,  o'er  the  hill  and  in  the  hollow. 
Merrily,  merrily  there  they  hie  ;  now  they  rise  and  now  they  fly  ; 
They  cross  and  turn,  and  in  and  out,  and  down  the  middle  and  wheel 

about, 
With  a  "  Phew,  shew,  Wadolincon  ;  listen  to  me,  Bobolincon  ! 
Happy  's  the  wooing  that 's  speedily  doing,  that 's  speedily  doing, 
That 's  merry  and  over  with  the  bloom  of  the  clover  ; 
Bobolincon,  Wadolincon,  Winterseeble,  follow,  follow  me  ! " 


0  what  a  happy  life  they  lead,  over  the  hill  and  in  the  mead  ! 
How  they  sing,  and  how  they  play  !     See,  they  fly  away,  away  ! 
Now  they  gambol  o'er  the  clearing,  —  off  again,  and  then  appearing  ; 
Poised  aloft  on  quivering  wing,  now  they  soar,  and  now  they  sing, 
"We  must  all  be  merry  and  moving  ;  we  must  all  be  happy  and  loving  ; 
For  when  the  midsummer  is  come,  and  the  grain  has  ripened  its  ear, 
The  haymakers  scatter  our  young,  and  we  mourn  for  the  rest  of  the  year  ; 
Then,  Bobolincon,  Wadolincon,  Winterseeble,  haste,  haste  away  ! " 

THE   BLUEBIRD. 

Not  one  of  our  songsters  is  so  intimately  associated 
with  the  early  spring  as  the  Bluebird.  Upon  his  arrival 
from  his  winter  residence,  he  never  fails  to  make  known 
his  presence  by  a  few  melodious  notes  uttered  from  some 
roof  or  fence  in  the  field  or  garden.  On  the  earliest 
morning  in  April,  when  we  first  open  our  windows  to 
welcome  the  soft  vernal  gales,  they  bear  on  their  wings 
the  sweet  strains  of  the  Bluebird.  These  few  notes  are 
associated  with  all  the  happy  scenes  and  incidents  that 
attend  the  opening  of  the  year. 

The  Bluebird  is  said  to  bear  a  strong  resemblance  to 
the  English  Robin-Bedbreast,  similar  in  form  and  size, 
having  a  red  breast  and  short  tail-feathers,  with  only  this 
manifest  difference,  that  one  is  olive-colored  above  where 
the  other  is  blue.  But  the  Bluebird  does  not  equal  the 
Redbreast  as  a  songster.  His  notes  are  few  and  not  greatly 
varied,  though  sweetly  and  plaintively  modulated  and 
never  loud.     On  account  of  their  want  of  variety,  they  d«  i 

3  D 


50  BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD. 

not  enchain  t]ie  listener ;  but  they  constitute  an  important 
part  of  the  melodies  of  morn. 

The  value  of  the  inferior  singers  in  making  up  a 
general  chorus  is  not  sufficiently  appreciated.  In  a  musi- 
cal composition,  as  in  an  anthem  or  oratorio,  though  there 
is  a  leading  part,  which  is  usually  the  air,  that  gives  char- 
acter to  the  whole,  yet  this  leading  part  would  often  be  a 
very  indifferent  piece  of  melody  if  performed  without  its 
accompaniments ;  and  these  alone  would  seem  still  more 
trifling  and  unimportant.  Yet,  if  the  composition  be  the 
work  of  a  master,  these  brief  strains  and  snatches,  though 
apparently  insignificant,  are  intimately  connected  with 
the  harmony  of  the  piece,  and  could  not  be  omitted  with- 
out a  serious  disparagement  of  the  grand  effect.  The 
inferior  singing-birds,  bearing  a  similar  relation  to  the 
whole  choir,  are  indispensable  as  aids  in  giving  additional 
effect  to  the  notes  of  the  chief  singers. 

Though  the  Eobin  is  the  principal  musician  in  the  gen- 
eral anthem  of  morn,  his  notes  would  become  tiresome 
if  heard  without  accompaniments.  Nature  has  so  ar- 
ranged the  harmony  of  this  chorus,  that  one  part  shall 
assist  another ;  and  so  exquisitely  has  she  combined  all 
the  different  voices,  that  the  silence  of  any  one  cannot 
fail  to  be  immediately  perceived.  The  low,  mellow  war- 
ble of  the  Bluebird  seems  an  echo  to  the  louder  voice 
of  the  Eobin ;  and  the  incessant  trilling  or  running  ac- 
companiment of  the  Hair-Bird,  the  twittering  of  the 
Swallow,  and  the  loud,  melodious  piping  of  the  Oriole, 
frequent  and  short,  are  sounded  like  the  different  parts 
in  a  band  of  instruments,  and  each  performer  seems 
to  time  his  part  as  if  by  some  rule  of  harmony.  Any 
discordant  sound  that  may  occur  in  this  performance 
never  fails  to  disturb  the  equanimity  of  the  singers,  and 
some  minutes  will  elapse  before  they  resume  their  song. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  draw  a  correct  comparison  be- 


BIRDS    OF   THE    GARDEN   AND    ORCHARD.  5] 

tween  the  birds  and  the  various  instruments  they  repre- 
sent But  if  the  Robin  were  described  as  the  clarionet, 
the  Bluebird  might  be  considered  the  flageolet,  frequently 
but  not  incessantly  interspersing  a  few  mellow  strains. 
The  Hair-Bird  would  be  the  octave  flute,  constantly 
trilling  on  a  high  key,  and  the  Golden  Robin  the  bugle, 
often  repeating  his  loud  and  brief  strain.  The  analogy, 
if  carried  further,  might  lose  force  and  correctness. 

All  the  notes  of  the  Bluebird  —  his  call-notes,  his 
notes  of  complaint,  his  chirp,  and  his  song  —  are  equally 
plaintive  and  closely  resemble  one  another.  I  am  not 
aware  that  this  bird  utters  a  harsh  note.  His  voice, 
which  is  one  of  the  earliest  to  be  heard  in  the  spring,  is 
associated  with  the  early  flowers  and  with  all  pleasant 
vernal  influences.  When  he  first  arrives  he  perches  upon 
the  roof  of  a  barn  or  upon  some  leafless  tree,  and  delivers 
his  few  and  frequent  notes  with  evident  fervor,  as  if  con- 
scious of  the  pleasures  that  await  him.  These  mellow 
notes  are  all  the  sounds  he  makes  for  several  weeks,  sel- 
dom chirping  or  scolding  like  other  birds.  His  song  is 
discontinued  at  midsummer,  but  his  plaintive  call,  con- 
sisting of  a  single  note  pensively  modulated,  continues 
every  day  until  he  leaves  our  fields.  This  sound  is  one 
of  the  melodies  of  summer's  decline,  and  reminds  us,  like 
the  note  of  the  green  nocturnal  tree-hopper,  of  the  ripened 
harvest,  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  and  of  all  the  joyous  festivals 
and  melancholy  reminiscences  of  autumn. 

The  Bluebird  builds  his  nest  in  hollow  trees  and  posts, 
and  maybe  encouraged  to  breed  around  our  dwellings,  by 
supplying  boxes  for  his  accommodation.  In  whatever 
vicinity  we  reside,  whether  in  a  recent  clearing  or  the 
heart  of  a  village,  if  we  set  up  a  bird-house  in  May,  it 
will  certainly  be  occupied  by  a  Bluebird,  unless  pre- 
viously taken  by  a  Wren  or  a  Martin.  But  there  is  com- 
monly so  great  a  demand  for  such  accommodations,  that 


52  BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD. 

it  is  not  unusual  to  see  two  or  three  different  species 
contending  for  one  box. 

THE   HOUSE-WREN. 

The  bird  whose  notes  serve  more  than  any  other  spe- 
cies to  enliven  our  summer  noondays  is  the  common 
House-Wren.  It  is  said  to  breed  chiefly  in  the  Middle 
States,  but  is  very  common  in  our  New  England  vil- 
lages, and  as  it  extends  its  summer  migration  to  Labrador, 
it  probably  breeds  in  all  places  north  of  the  Middle  States. 
It  is  a  migratory  bird,  leaving  us  early  in  autumn,  and 
not  reappearing  until  May.  It  builds  in  a  hollow  tree 
like  the  Bluebird.  A  box  of  any  kind,  properly  made, 
will  answer  its  purposes.  But  nothing  is  better  than 
a  grape-jar,  prepared  by  drilling  a  hole  in  its  side,  just 
large  enough  for  the  Wren,  and  setting  it  up  on  a 
perpendicular  branch  sawed  off  and  inserted  into  the 
mouth  of  the  jar.  The  bird  fills  it  with  sticks  before  it 
makes  a  nest,  and  the  mouth  of  the  jar  serves  for  drain- 


age. 


The  Wren  is  one  of  the  most  restless  of  the  feathered 
tribe.  He  is  continually  in  motion,  and  even  when  sing- 
ing is  constantly  flitting  about  and  changing  his  position. 
We  see  him  in  a  dozen  places  as  it  were  at  the  same 
moment ;  now  warbling  in  ecstasy  from  the  roof  of 
a  shed,  then,  with  his  wings  spread  and  his  feathers 
ruffled,  scolding  furiously  at  a  Bluebird  or  a  Swallow 
that  has  alighted  on  his  box,  or  driving  a  Robin  from  a 
neighboring  cherry-tree.  Instantly  we  observe  him  run- 
ning alon<r  a  stone-wall  and  diving  down  and  in  and  out, 
from  one  side  to  the  other,  through  its  openings,  with 
all  the  nimbleness  of  a  squirrel.  He  is  on  the  ridge  of 
the  barn  roof,  he  is  peeping  into  the  dove-cote,  he  is  in 
the  garden  under  the  currant-bushes,  or  chasing  a  spider 
under  a  cabbage-leaf.     Again  he  is  on  the  roof  of  a  shed, 


BIRDS    OF   THE    GARDEN   AMD    ORCHARD.  I   \ 

warbling  vociferously ;  and  these  manoeuvres  and  peregri- 
nations have  occupied  hardly  a  minute,  so  rapid  and  in- 
cessant are  all  his  motions. 

The  notes  of  the  Wren  are  very  lively  and  garrulous, 
and  if  not  uttered  more  frequently  during  the  heat  of  the 
day,  are,  on  account  of  the  general  silence  of  birds,  more 
noticeable  at  that  hour.  There  is  a  concert  at  noon- 
clay,  as  well  as  in  the  morning  and  evening,  among  the 
birds ;  and  of  the  former  the  Wren  is  one  of  the  principal 
musicians.  After  the  hot  rays  of  the  sun  have  silenced 
the  early  performers,  the  Song-Sparrow  and  the  Red- 
Thrush  continue  to  sing  at  intervals  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  day.  The  Wren  is  likewise  heard  at  all  hours  ; 
but  when  the  languishing  heat  of  noon  has  arrived,  the 
few  birds  that  continue  to  sing  are  more  than  usually 
vocal,  and  seem  to  form  a  select  company.  The  birds 
which  are  thus  associated  with  the  Wren  are  the  Bob  >- 
link,  the  Preacher,  the  Linnet,  and  the  Catbird,  if  he  be 
anywhere  near.  If  we  were  at  this  hour  in  the  woods 
we  should  hear  the  loud,  shrill  voice  of  the  Oven-Bird 
and  some  of  the  warbling  sylvians. 

Of  all  these  noonday  singers,  the  Wren  is  the  most  re- 
markable. His  song  is  singularly  varied  and  animated. 
He  has  great  compass  and  execution,  but  wants  variety 
in  his  tones.  He  begins  very  sharp  and  shrill,  like  a 
grasshopper,  slides  down  to  a  series  of  guttural  notes, 
then  ascends  like  the  rolling  of  a  drum  in  rapidity  of 
utterance  to  another  series  of  high  notes.  Almost  without 
a  pause  he  recommences  his  querulous  insect-chirp,  and 
proceeds  through  the  same  trilling  and  demi-semi-quaver- 
ing  as  before.  He  is  not  particular  about  the  part  of  his 
song  which  he  makes  his  closing  note.  He  will  leave  nil' 
in  the  middle  of  a  strain,  when  he  seems  in  the  height 
of  ecstasy,  to  pick  up  a  spider  or  a  fly.  As  the  Wren 
produces  two  broods  in  a  season,  his  notes  are  prolonged 


54  BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD. 

to  a  late  period  in  the  summer,  and  may  be  heard  some- 
times in  the  third  week  in  August. 

THE  WINTER-WREN. 

We  do  not  often  meet  with  this  bird  near  Boston  in 
summer.  He  is  then  a  resident  of  the  northern  parts  of 
Maine  and  New  Hampshire,  and  of  the  Green  Mountain 
range.  In  the  autumn  he  migrates  from  the  north  and 
may  be  occasionally  seen  in  company  with  our  other  win- 
ter birds.  In  our  own  latitude,  if  the  cold  season  drives 
him  farther  south,  we  meet  him  again  early  in  the  spring, 
making  his  journey  to  his  northern  home.  "While  he 
remains  with  us  we  see  him  near  the  shelving  banks  of 
rivers,  creeping  about  old  stumps  of  trees,  which,  half  de- 
cayed, furnish  a  frugal  share  of  his  dormant  insect-food. 
He  is  so  little  afraid  of  man  that  he  will  often  leave  his 
native  resorts,  and  may  be  seen,  like  our  common  House- 
Wren,  examining  the  wood-pile,  creeping  into  the  holes 
of  old  stone-walls  and  about  the  foundations  of  out-houses. 
Not  having  seen  this  bird  except  in  winter,  I  am  unac- 
quainted with  his  song.  Samuels  describes  it  as  very 
melodious  and  delightful. 

THE   MARSH  WREN. 

I  was  once  crossing  by  turnpike  an  extensive  meadow 
which  was  overgrown  with  reeds  and  rushes,  when  my 
curiosity  was  excited  by  hearing,  in  a  thicket  on  the 
banks  of  a  streamlet,  a  sound  that  would  hardly  admit  of 
being  described.  I  could  not  tell  whether  it  came  from 
an  asthmatic  bird  or  an  aggravated  frog.  The  sound  was 
unlike  anything  I  had  ever  heard.  I  should  have  sup- 
posed, however,  if  there  were  Mocking-Birds  in  our  woods, 
that  one  of  them  had  concealed  himself  in  the  thicket  and 
was  attempting  to  imitate  the  braying  of  an  ass.  I  sat 
down  upon  the  railing  of  a  rustic  bridge  that  crossed  the 


BIRDS  OF  THE  GARDEN  AND  ORCHARD.       55 

stream,  and  watched  for  a  sight  of  the  imp  that  must 
be  concealed  there.  In  less  than  a  minute  there  emerged 
from  it  a  Marsh-Wren,  whisking  and  flitting  about  with 
gestures  as  peculiar  though  not  as  awkward  as  his  bur- 
lesque song. 

If  I  believed,  as  some  writers  affirm,  that  birds  learn 
their  song  from  their  parents,  who  carry  them  alon^ 
from  one  step  to  another  as  if  they  had  a  musical  gamut 
before  them,  I  might  have  conjectured  that  this  bird 
had  been  taught  by  a  frog,  and  that,  despising  his  teacher, 
he  strove  not  to  learn  his  reptile  notes  but  to  burlesque 
them.  As  I  was  walking  homeward,  I  could  not  but 
reflect  that  Nature,  who  is  sometimes  personified  as  an  old 
dame,  must  have  indulged  her  mirthfulness  when  she 
created  a  bird  with  the  voice  of  a  reptile. 

Dr.  Brewer  describes  the  nest  of  the  Marsh-Wren  as 
nearly  spherical,  composed  externally  of  coarse  sedges 
firmly  interwoven,  cemented  with  mud  and  clay,  and  im- 
pervious to  the  weather.  An  orifice  is  left  on  one  side 
for  entrance,  having  on  the  upper  side  a  projecting  edge 
to  protect  it  from  rain.  The  inside  is  lined  with  soft 
grass,  feathers,  and  the  cottony  product  of  various  plants. 
It  is  commonly  placed  on  a  low  bush  a  few  feet  from  the 
ground. 

This  species,  like  all  the  Wrens,  has  great  activity  and 
industry,  consumes  immense  quantities  of  small  insects, 
is  very  petulant  in  its  manners,  and  manifests  a  superior 
degree  of  intelligence  and  courage. 


THE  HAUNTS   OF  FLOWERS. 

There  is  not  a  more  interesting  subject  connected  with 
botany  than  that  of  the  haunts  of  flowers.  We  may 
by  chance  discover  a  rare  and  beautiful  plant  in  a  situa- 
tion that  would  be  the  last  to  invite  our  attention.  The 
apparent  unfitness  of  the  place  for  aught  but  common 
weeds  may  have  preserved  it  from  observation.  I  have 
sometimes  encountered  by  the  roadside  a  species  for 
which  I  had  long  vainly  traversed  the  woods.  On  the 
borders  of  some  of  the  less  frequented  roads  in  the  coun- 
try, the  soil  and  the  plants  still  remain  in  their  primitive 
condition.  In  such  grounds  we  may  find  materials  for 
study  for  several  weeks,  without  leaving  the  waysides. 
Indeed,  all  those  old  roads  which  are  not  thoroughfares  — 
by-ways  not  travelled  enough  to  destroy  the  grass  be- 
tween the  ruts  of  wheels  and  the  middle  path  made  by 
the  feet  of  horses  —  are  very  propitious  to  the  growth 
of  wild  plants.  The  shrubbery  on  these  old  roadsides, 
when  it  has  not  been  disturbed  for  a  number  of  years, 
is  far  more  beautiful  than  the  finest  imaginable  hedge- 
row. Here  are  several  viburnums,  two  or  three  species 
of  cornel,  the  bayberry,  the  sweet  fern,  the  azalea,  the 
rhodora,  the  small  kalmia,  and  a  crowd  of  whortleberry- 
bushes,  beside  the  wild  rose  and  eglantine.  The  narrow 
footpath  through  this  wayside  shrubbery  has  a  magic 
about  it  that  makes  it  delightful  to  pass  through  it. 
Lender  the  shelter  of  this  tangle- wood  Nature  calls  out 
the  anemone,  blue,  white,  and  pedate  violets,  and  in 
damp  places  the  erythronium,  the  Solomon's  seal,  and 


THE  HAUNTS   OF   FLOWERS.  57 


• 


the  bellwort.  When  I  see  these  native  ornaments  de- 
stroyed for  the  improvement  of  the  road,  I  feel  like  one 
whose  paternal  estate  has  been  cleared  and  graded  and 
measured  out  into  auction-lots. 

There  are  indications  by  which  we  may  always  identify 
the  haunts  of  certain  species,  if  they  have  not  been  eradi- 
cated. We  know  that  fallow  grounds  are  inhabited  by 
weeds,  and  that  mean  soils  contain  plants  that  seem  by 
their  thrift  to  require  a  barren  situation;  but  they  are 
like  poor  people,  who  live  in  mean  huts  because  the 
better  houses  are  occupied  by  their  superiors.  These 
plants  would  grow  more  luxuriantly  in  a  good  soil,  if 
they  were  not  crowded  out  by  those  of  more  vigorous 
habit.  Every  one  is  familiar  with  a  species  of  rush 
called  wire  grass,  which  is  abundant  in  footpaths  through 
wet  meadows.  It  is  so  toucdi  that  the  feet  of  men  and 
animals,  while  they  crush  and  destroy  all  other  plants  that 
come  up  there,  leave  this  uninjured.  This  remarkable 
habit  has  caused  the  belief  that  it  thrives  better  from 
being  trampled  under  foot.  The  truth  is,  it  will  bear  more 
hard  usage  than  other  species,  and  is  made  conspicuous 
by  being  left  alone  after  its  companions  have  been  trod- 
den to  death.  The  same  may  be  observed  of  a  species 
of  Polygonum,  —  the  common  "  knot-grass  "  of  our  back 
yards.  A  certain  amount  of  trampling  is  favorable  to  its 
growth  by  crushing  out  all  its  competitors. 

Most  of  our  naturalized  plants  inhabit  those  places 
which  have  been  once  reduced  to  tillage  and  afterwards 
restored  to  nature.  Such  are  the  sites  of  old  gardens  and 
orchards,  and  the  forsaken  enclosures  of  some  old  dwell- 
ing-house. The  white  Bethlehem-star  is  a  tenant  of 
these  deserted  grounds,  growing  meekly  under  the  protec- 
tion of  some  moss-covered  stone-wall  or  dilapidated  shed, 
fraternizing  with  the  celandine,  the  sweet  chervil,  and 
here  and  there  a  solitary  narcissus.     The  euphorbia  and 

3* 


58  THE  HAUNTS   OF   FLOWERS. 

houseleek  prosper  in  similar  places,  growing  freshly  upon 
ledges  and  heaps  of  stones,  which  have  been  carted  by 
the  farmer  into  abrupt  hollows,  mixed  with  the  soil  and 
weeds  of  the  garden.  In  shady  corners  we  find  the  colts- 
foot, the  gill,  —  a  very  pretty  labiate,  —  and  some  of  the 
foreign  mints.  Spikenard  and  tansy  delight  in  more 
open  places,  along  with  certain  other  medicinal  herbs 
introduced  by  ancient  simplers.  These  plants  are  seldom 
found  in  woods  or  primitive  pastures. 

Wild  plants  of  rare  beauty  abound  in  a  recent  clearing, 
especially  in  a  tract  from  which  a  growth  of  hard  wood 
has  been  felled,  if  afterwards  the  soil  has  remained  undis- 
turbed. In  the  deep  woods  the  darkness  will  not  permit 
any  sort  of  undergrowth  except  a  few  plants  of  peculiar 
habit  and  constitution.  But  after  the  removal  of  the 
wood,  all  kinds  of  indigenous  plants,  whose  seeds  have 
been  wafted  there  by  the  winds  or  carried  there  by  the 
birds,  will  revel  in  the  clearing,  until  they  are  choked  by 
a  new  growth  of  trees  and  shrubs.  Strawberries  and  sev- 
eral species  of  brambles  spring  up  there  as  if  by  magic, 
and  cover  the  stumps  of  the  trees  with  their  vines  and 
their  racemes  of  black  and  scarlet  fruit ;  and  hundreds 
of  beautiful  flowering  plants  astonish  us  by  their  pres- 
ence, as  if  they  were  a  new  creation.  We  must  look  to 
these  clearings,  and  to  those  tracts  in  which  the  trees 
have  been  destroyed  by  fire,  more  than  to  any  others,  for 
the  exact  method  of  nature.  Among  the  first  plants 
that  would  appear  after  the  burning,  beside  the  lilia- 
ceous tribe,  whose  bulbs  lie  too  deep  in  the  soil  to  be 
destroyed,  are  those  with  downy  seeds,  which  are  imme- 
diately sowed  there  by  the  winds.  One  very  conspicu- 
ous and  beautiful  plant,  the  spiked  willow  herb,  is  so 
abundant  in  any  tract  that  has  been  burned,  the  next  year 
after  the  conflagration,  that  in  the  West  and  in  the  British 
Provinces  it  has  gained  the  name  of  fireweed. 


THE   HAUNTS   OF   FLOWERS.  59 

But  the  paradise  of  the  young  botanist  is  a  glade,  or 
open  space  in  a  wood,  usually  a  level  between  two  rocky 
eminences,  or  a  little  alluvial  meadow  pervaded  by  a 
small  stream,  open  to  the  sun,  and  protected  at  the  same 
time  from  the  winds  by  surrounding  hills  and  woods.  It 
is  surprising  how  soon  the  flowery  tenants  of  one  of  these 
o-lades  will  vanish  after  the  removal  of  this  bulwark  of 
trees.  But  with  this  protection,  the  loveliest  flowers  will 
cluster  there,  like  the  singing-birds  around  a  cottage  and 
its  enclosures  in  the  wilderness.  Here  they  find  a  genial 
soil  and  a  natural  conservatory,  and  abide  there  until 
some  accident  destroys  them.  Nature  selects  these  places 
for  her  favorite  garden-plots.  In  the  centre  she  rears  her 
tender  herbs  and  flowers,  and  her  shrubbery  in  the  bor- 
ders, while  the  trees  form  a  screen  around  the  whole.  I 
have  often  seen  one  of  these  glades  crimsoned  all  over 
with  flowers  of  the  cymbidium  and  arethusa,  with  wild 
roses  in  their  borders,  vying  in  splendor  with  a  sumptu- 
ous parterre. 

While  strolling  through  a  wood  in  one  of  those  rustic 
avenues  which  have  been  made  by  the  farmer  or  the 
woodman,  we  shall  soon  discover  that  this  path  is  like- 
wise a  favorite  resort  for  many  species  of  wild-flowers. 
Except  the  glade,  there  are  but  few  places  so  bountifully 
stored  by  nature  with  a  starry  profusion  of  bloom.  The 
cranesbill,  the  wood  anemone,  the  cinquefoil,  the  yellow 
Bethlehem-star,  the  houstonia,  to  say  nothing  of  crowds 
of  violets,  adorn  the  verdant  sward  of  these  woodpaths ; 
and  still  beyond  them,  cherished  by  the  sunshine  that  is 
admitted  into  this  opening,  ginsengs,  bellworts,  the  white 
starlike  trientalis,  the  trillium,  and  medeola  thrive  more 
prosperously  than  in  situations  entirely  wild  and  primi- 
tive. It  is  pleasant  to  note  how  kindly  Nature  receive 
these  little  disturbances  which  are  made  by  the  woodman, 
and  how  many  beautiful  things  will  assemble  there,  to  be 


60  THE   HAUNTS   OF   FLOWERS. 

fostered  by  those  conditions  which  accident,  combined 
with  the  rude  operations  of  agriculture,  alone  can  pro- 
duce. 

Leaving  this  avenue,  we  ascend  the  sloping  ground, 
and,  passing  through  a  tangled  bed  of  lycopodiums,  often 
meeting  with  the  remnants  of  a  foot-path  that  is  soon 
obliterated  in  a  mass  of  vegetation  ;  then  wandering  path- 
less over  ground  made  smooth  by  a  brown  matting  of 
pine  leaves,  beautifully  pencilled  over  with  the  small 
creeping  vines  and  checkered  foliage  of  the  mitchella  and 
its  scarlet  berries,  we  come  at  last  to  a  little  rocky  dell 
full  of  the  greenery  of  mosses  and  ferns,  and  find  our- 
selves in  the  home  of  the  columbines.  Such  a  brilliant 
assemblage  reminds  you  of  an  aviary  full  of  linnets  and 
goldfinches.  The  botanist  does  not  consider  the  colum- 
bine a  rare  prize.  It  is  a  well-known  plant,  thriving  both 
in  the  wood  and  outside  of  it ;  but  it  is  gregarious,  and 
selects  for  its  habitation  a  sunny  place  in  the  woods, 
upon  a  bed  of  rock  covered  with  a  thin  crust  of  soil.  The 
plants  take  root  on  every  rocky  projection  and  in  every 
crevice,  hanging  like  jewels  from  a  green  tapestry  of  vel- 
vet moss. 

As  we  leave  this  magic  recess  of  flowers  and  pursue 
our  course  under  the  pines,  trampling  noiselessly  over  the 
brown,  elastic  sward,  we  soon  discover  the  purple,  inflated 
blossoms  of  the  pink  lady's-slipper.  These  flowers  are  al- 
ways considerably  scattered,  and  never  grace  the  open  field. 
Often  in  their  company  we  observe  the  sweet  pyrola, 
bearing  a  long  spike  of  white  flowers  that  have  the  odor 
of  cinnamon.  Less  frequently  we  find  in  this  scattered 
assemblage  some  rare  species  of  wood  orchis  and  the  sin- 
gular coral  plant.  If  we  now  trace  the  course  of  any 
little  streamlet  to  a  wooded  glen  full  of  pale  green  bog- 
moss,  covering  the  ground  with  a  deep  mass  of  spongy 
vegetation,  there  we  may  happily  discover  the  rare  and 


THE   HAUNTS   OF   FLOWERS.  CI 

beautiful  white  orchis,  the  nun  of  the  woods,  with  flow- 
ers resembling  the  pale  face  of  a  lady  wearing  a  white 
cap.  This  plant  is  found  only  in  certain  cloistered  re- 
treats, under  the  shade  of  trees.  It  is  a  true  vestal,  and 
will  not  tarnish  its  purity  by  any  connection  with  the 
soil.  It  is  cradled  like  an  infant  in  the  soft,  green  bog- 
moss,  and  derives  its  sustenance  from  the  pure  air  and 
dews  of  heaven.  Like  the  orchids  of  warm  climates,  it 
is  half  parasitic,  and  requires  certain  conditions  for  its 
growth  which  are  rarely  combined. 

Flowers  are  usually  abundant  in  pleasant  situations. 
They  avoid  cold  and  bleak  exposures,  the  dark  shade  of 
very  dense  woods,  and  wet  places  seldom  visited  by  sun- 
shine. Like  birds,  they  love  protection,  and  we  are  sure 
to  meet  with  many  species  wherever  the  songsters  of 
the  forest  are  numerous.  Birds  and  flowers  require  the 
same  fostering  warmth,  the  same  sunshine,  and  the  same 
fertility  of  soil  to  supply  them  with  their  food.  "When 
we  are  traversing  a  deep  forest,  the  silence  of  the  situa- 
tion is  one  of  the  most  notable  circumstances  of  our  jour- 
ney; but  if  we  suddenly  encounter  a  great  variety  of 
flowers,  our  ears  wTill  at  the  same  time  be  greeted  by  the 
notes  of  some  little  thrush  or  sylvia.  If  I  hear  the  veery, 
a  bird  that  loves  to  mingle  his  liquid  notes  with  the  sound 
of  some  tuneful  runlet,  I  know  that  I  am  approaching  the 
shady  haunts  of  the  trillium  and  the  wood  thalictrum. 
If  I  hear  the  snipe  feebly  imitating  the  lark,  as  he  soars 
at  twilight,  and  warbles  his  chirruping  song  for  above  my 
head,  I  know  that  when  he  descends  in  his  spiral  course 
he  will  alight  upon  grounds  occupied  by  the  Canadian 
rhodora,  the  andromecla,  and  the  wild  strawberry  plant. 
But  if  the  song  of  the  robin  is  heard  in  the  forest,  I  feel 
sure  that  a  cottage  is  near,  with  its  orchard  and  cornfields, 
or  else  that  I  am  close  to  the  end  of  the  wood  and  am 
about  to  emerge  into  the  open  plain. 


62  THE   HAUNTS   OF   FLOWERS. 

A  moor  is  seldom  adorned  with  plants  that  would  pros- 
per in  the  uplands ;  but  if  it  be  encompassed  by  a  circle 
of  wooded  hills,  a  gay  assemblage  of  flowers  will  congre- 
gate in  its  borders,  where  hill  and  plain  are  impercepti- 
bly blended.  We  may  always  find  a  path  made  by  cattle 
all  along  the  border.  If  we  thread  the  course  of  this 
path,  Ave  pass  through  bushes  of  moderate  height,  consist- 
ing of  whortleberries,  clethra,  and  swamp  honeysuckles, 
and  now  and  then  enter  a  drier  path,  through  beds  of 
sweet-fern,  and  occasional  open  spaces  full  of  pedate 
violets.  The  docile  animals,  —  picturesque  artists  who 
constructed  this  path,  —  while  gazing  upon  the  clover- 
patches,  will  turn  their  large  eyes  placidly  upon  us,  still 
heeding  their  diligent  occupation.  We  keep  close  to  the 
edge  of  the  moor,  not  disregarding  many  common  and 
homely  plants  that  lie  in  our  way,  till  we  discover  the 
object  of  our  search,  the  sarracenia,  or  sidesaddle  plant, 
with  its  dark  purple  flowers,  nodding  like  Epicureans 
over  their  circle  of  leafy  cups  half  filled  with  dew.  This 
is  a  genuine  "  pitcher  plant,"  and  is  the  only  one  of  the 
family  that  is  not  tropical.  The  water  avens  —  con- 
spicuous for  its  drooping  chocolate-colored  flowers  —  and 
the  golden  senecio  congregate  in  the  same  meadow,  bend- 
ing their  plumes  above  the  tall  rushes  and  autumnal 
asters  not  yet  in  flower. 

Very  early  in  the  season,  if  we  are  near  an  oak 
wood,  standing  on  a  slope  with  a  southern  exposure, 
we  enter  it,  and  if  fortune  favors  us,  the  liverwort  will 
meet  our  sight,  pushing  up  the  dry  oak  leaves  that 
formed  its  winter  covering,  and  displaying  its  pale  bluish 
and  purple  flowers,  deepening  their  hues  as  they  ex- 
pand. When  they  are  fully  opened,  there  are  but  few 
sights  so  pleasant  as  these  circular  clusters  of  flowers,  on 
a  ground  of  dry  brown  foliage,  enlivened  with  hardly  a 
tuft  of  verdure,  except  the  trilobate  leaves  of  this  inter- 


THE   HAUNTS   OF   FLOWERS.  C3 

esting  plant.  As  oaks  usually  stand  on  a  fertile  soil, 
there  is  a  greater  variety  of  species  among  their  under- 
growth than  in  almost  any  other  wood.  A  grove  of  oaks, 
after  it  lias  been  thinned  by  the  woodman  so  as  to  open 
the  grounds  to  the  sun,  becomes  when  left  to  nature  a 
rare  repository  of  herbaceous  plants.  Yet  there  are  cer- 
tain curious  species  which  are  found  almost  exclusively  in 
pine  woods.  Such  is  the  genus  Monotropa,  including 
two  species,  the  pine-sap  and  the  bird's-nest,  —  plants 
without  leaves  or  hues,  with  stems  resembling  potato- 
sprouts  grown  in  a  dark  cellar.  Outside  of  pine  woods, 
however,  on  their  southern  boundary,  we  may  always  look 
for  the  earliest  spring  flowers,  because  no  other  wood 
affords  them  so  warm  a  protection. 

In  our  imaginary  tour  we  have  visited  only  the  most 
common  scenes  of  nature ;  we  have  traced  to  their  habi- 
tats very  few  rare  plants,  and  have  yet  hardly  noticed  the 
flowers  of  autumn,  —  those  luxuriant  growers,  many  of 
them  half  shrubby  and  branching  like  trees.  Some  of 
these  have  no  select  haunts.  The  asters  and  golden-rods, 
the  most  conspicuous  of  the  hosts  of  autumn,  are  found 
in  almost  every  soil  and  situation ;  but  they  congregate 
chiefly  on  the  borders  of  woods  and  fields,  and  seem  to 
take  special  delight  in  arraying  themselves  by  the  sides 
of  roads  recently  laid  out  through  a  wet  meadow.  The 
autumnal  plants  generally  prosper  only  in  the  lowlands 
which  have  not  suffered  from  the  summer  droughts. 
When  botanizing  at  the  close  of  the  season,  we  must 
avoid  dry  sandy  places,  and  follow  the  windings  of 
narrow  streams  that  glide  through  peat-meadows,  and 
traverse  the  sides  of  ditches,  examining  the  convex  em- 
bankments of  soil  which  have  been  thrown  up  by  the 
spade  of  the  ditcher.  On  level  moors  we  meet  with  occa- 
sional rows  of  willows  affectionately  guarding  the  watera 
of  these  artificial  pools,  where  they  were  planted  as  senti- 


64  THE  HAUNTS   OF   FLOWERS. 

nels  by  the  rustic  laborer.  The  gentians,  which  have 
always  been  admired,  as  much  for  the  delicacy  and  beauty 
of  their  flowers  as  for  their  hardy  endurance  of  autumnal 
frosts,  are  often  strewn  in  these  places,  glowing  like  sap- 
phires on  the  faded  greensward  of  the  closing  season  of 
vegetation. 

The  great  numbers  of  wild  plants  which  are  often  as- 
sembled in  a  single  meadow  seem  to  a  poetical  mind 
something  more  than  a  result  of  the  mere  accidents  of 
nature.  There  is  not  a  greater  variety  or  diversity  in  the 
thoughts  that  enter  and  pass  through  the  mind  than  of 
species  among  these  herbs.  Each  has  distinct  features, 
and  some  attractive  form  or  color,  or  other  remarkable 
property  peculiar  to  itself.  How  many  different  species 
bend  under  our  footsteps  while  we  are  crossing  an  ordi- 
nary field !  How  many  thousands  are  constantly  dis- 
tilling odors  into  the  atmosphere,  which  is  oxygenated 
by  their  foliage  and  purified  and  renovated  by  their  vital 
and  chemical  action !  There  is  not  a  single  plant,  how- 
ever obscure,  minute,  or  unattractive,  that  is  not  an 
important  agent  of  Nature  in  her  vast  and  mysterious 
economy. 

There  would  be  no  end  to  our  adventures,  if  we  were 
,  resolved  to  continue  them  until  our  observations  were 
exhausted.  Hence  the  never- failing  resources  of  the  bot- 
anist who  is  within  an  hour's  walk  of  the  forest.  The 
sports  of  hunting  and  fishing  offer  their  temptations  to  a 
greater  number  of  young  persons ;  but  they  do  not  afford 
continued  pleasure  to  their  votaries,  like  botanizing.  The 
hunter  watches  his  dog  and  the  angler  his  line ;  but  the 
plant-hunter  examines  everything  that  bears  a  leaf  or  a 
flower.  His  pursuit  leads  him.  into  all  the  green  recesses 
of  nature,  —  into  sunny  dells  and  shady  arbors,  over  peb- 
bly hills  and  plashy  hollows,  through  mossy  dingles  and 
wandering  footpaths,  into  secret  alcoves  where  the  Hama- 


THE   HAUNTS   OF   FLOWERS.  '  Co 

dryads  drape  the  rocks  with  ferns,  and  Naiads  collect  the 
dews  of  morning  and  pour  them  into  their  oozy  fountains 
for  the  perfection  of  their  verdure. 

A  ride  over  the  roads  of  the  same  region  is  not  so  pleas- 
ant as  these  intricate  journeys  of  the  botanist.  He  frater- 
nizes with  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  wood,  and  with  the  la- 
borers of  the  farms  which  he  crosses,  not  heeding  the  cau- 
tions to  trespassers.  He  meets  the  rustic  swain  at  his 
plough,  and  listens  to  his  quaint  discourse  and  his  plati- 
tudes about  nature  and  mankind.  He  follows  the  devi- 
ous paths  of  the  ruffed  grouse,  and  destroys  the  snares 
which  are  set  for  its  destruction.  He  listens  to  its  muf- 
fled drum  while  he  cools  his  heated  brow  under  a  canopy 
of  maples  overarched  with  woodbine,  and  picks  the  scar- 
let berries  that  cluster  on  the  green  knolls  at  his  feet.  He 
lives  in  harmony  with  all  created  things,  and  hears  the 
voices  of  the  woods  and  music  of  the  streams.  The  trees 
spread  their  shade  over  him ;  every  element  loads  him 
with  its  favors.  Morning  hails  him  with  her  earliest  sal- 
utation, and  introduces  him  to  her  fairest  hours  and 
sweetest  gales.  Noon  tempts  him  into  her  silent  wood- 
land sanctuaries,  and  makes  the  hermit  thrush  his  soli- 
tary minstrel.  Evening  calls  him  out  from  his  retreat,  to 
pursue  another  varied  journey  among  the  fairy  realms  of 
vegetation,  and  ere  she  parts  with  him  curtains  the  heav- 
ens with  splendor  and  prompts  her  choir  of  sylvan  war- 
blers to  salute  him  with  their  vespers. 


WATER  SCENERY. 

There  is  no  single  thing  in  nature  that  adds  more 
beauty  to  landscape  than  water.  It  is  emblematical  of 
purity  and  tranquillity;  it  is  suggestive  of  multitudes 
of  pleasant  rural  images,  and,  beside  these  moral  ex- 
pressions, it  possesses  a  great  deal  of  intrinsic  beauty. 
The  mirrored  surface  of  a  lake  or  a  stream,  reflecting  the 
hues  and  forms  of  the  clouds  in  the  heavens,  and  of  the 
trees  and  shrubbery  on  its  banks,  is  pleasing  to  the  eye, 
independently  of  any  suggestion  that  may  occur  to  a  fan- 
ciful mind.  The  eye  requires  to  be  practised,  or  rather 
the  mind  must  be  educated  in  a  certain  manner,  before  it 
can  enjoy  and  appreciate  moral  beauty.  But  the  beauty 
of  a  smooth  surface  of  water,  of  waves  trembling  in  the 
moonlight,  of  a  spouting  fountain,  or  a  sparkling  rill,  is 
obvious  and  attractive  even  to  a  child.  In  water  have 
color  and  form  and  motion  intimately  combined  their 
charms,  assuming  the  loveliest  tints  in  the  dews  of  heaven 
and  the  spray  of  the  ocean,  and  every  imaginable  form 
of  beauty  in  the  lake  and  its  sinuosities,  and  the  river  in 
its  various  windings  through  vale  and  mountain. 

Water  is  not  only  beautiful  in  itself,  but  it  is  one  of 
the  chief  sources  of  pleasing  variety  in  the  expression 
of  landscape,  whether  we  view  it  as  spread  out  on  the 
silver  bosom  of  a  lake,  the  serpentine  course  of  a  river, 
or  by  its  outlines  forming  those  endless  changes  that 
delight  the  voyager  by  the  sea-shore.  Every  one  must 
have  observed,  when  riding  through  an  unattractive 
country,  how  it  seems  overspread  with  a  sudden  charm 


WATER   SCENERY.  G7 

when  we  come  in  sight  of  a  lake  or  stream.  What  was 
before  monotonous  is  now  agreeably  varied ;  what  before 
was  spiritless  is  now  animated  and  cheering.  A  similar 
effect  is  produced  by  the  sight  of  a  little  cottage  in  a  des- 
ert or  uninhabited  region,  or  in  the  midst  of  an  unculti- 
vated plain.  The  eye  wanders  about  unsatisfied,  until 
it  sees  this  human  dwelling,  when  it  rests  contented,  be- 
cause it  has  found  something  to  fix  the  attention  and  to 
awaken  a  sympathetic  interest.  We  are  not  always 
aware  how  greatly  the  beauty  of  landscape  is  founded  on 
our  habitual  associations.  At  the  sight  of  water  we  think 
at  once  of  the  numerous  delights,  bounties,  and  luxuries 
that  flow  from  its  beneficent  streams;  and  perhaps 
nothing  in  a  prospect  so  instantaneously  awakens  the 
idea  of  plenty  and  of  the  beneficence  of  nature.  Water 
is,  therefore,  the  very  picture  of  benevolence,  without 
which  the  face  of  the  country  would  seem  cold,  ungen- 
erous, and  barren. 

A  feeling  of  seclusion  is  one  of  the  agreeable  emotions 
connected  with  a  ramble  in  the  woods  ;  and  some  delight- 
ful  spots  derive  their  principal  attractions  from  their  evi- 
dent adaptedness  to  this  security  from  observation.  When 
we  are  walking,  either  alone  or  in  company,  we  do  not 
like  to  be  met  by  others  or  to  be  observed  by  them.  A 
little  sequestered  spot,  that  seems  to  offer  all  this  desira- 
ble shelter  from  the  eyes  of  the  world,  is  always  singu- 
larly attractive.  But  those  are  the  most  eligible  retreats 
in  which  one  might  be  secluded  and  at  the  same  time 
accommodated  with  a  pleasant  and  extensive  prospect. 
To  be  able  to  look  out  upon  the  world  from  a  little  nook, 
while  unobserved  and  not  liable  to  be  interrupted  by 
others,  affords  one  an  experience  of  the  same  emotion 
with  which  we  contemplate  the  raging  of  a  storm  from  a 
place  of  comfort  and  security. 

Water  is  in  a  high  degree  favorable  to  the  attainment 


68  WATER    SCENERY. 

of  these  pleasant  advantages.  Let  two  parties  be  placed 
at  opposite  points,  with  a  small  lake  intervening,  and 
though  full  in  sight  of  each  other,  they  still  feel  secluded. 
The  pleasantness  of  their  retreat,  under  these  circum- 
stances, is  enlivened  by  the  sight  of  the  opposite  party, 
and  they  may  be  amused  by  observing  the  motions  of 
the  other,  and  at  the  same  time  feel  secure  from  intrusion. 
But  if  there  were  only  a  meadow  of  equal  width  to 
separate  them,  the  secluded  character  of  the  situation 
would  be  lost;  as  the  parties  are  not  only  in  sight, 
but  are  liable  to  be  interrupted  by  a  visit  from  the  oppo- 
site one.  A  lake  may  in  this  way  be  the  occasion  of 
many  of  those  delightful  retreats,  attended  with  advan- 
tages of  prospect,  which  no  other  combination  of  scenes 
could  so  well  afford.  The  beauty  of  many  of  these  situa- 
tions depends  greatly  on  their  apparent  adaptedness  to 
this  kind  of  recreation  and  seclusion. 

A  river,  especially  of  moderate  width,  is  in  many  re- 
spects more  beautiful  than  a  lake;  and,  more  than  any 
other  collection  of  water,  suggests  the  idea  of  infinity 
and  of  continued  progression.  I  never  look  upon  a  clear 
stream  of  narrow  dimensions,  without  thinking  of  the 
thousand  beautiful  scenes  it  must  visit,  in  its  blue  course 
through  the  hills  and  plains.  What  a  life  of  perpetual 
delight  must  be  led  by  the  gentle  river  goddess,  as  she  is 
wafted  up  and  down  the  stream  in  her  shallop  of  reeds ! 
Xow  coursing  along  under  banks  sprinkled  over  with 
honeysuckles,  while  their  fragrance  follows  the  current 
of  the  stream,  to  entice  the  bees  and  other  insects  to  their 
fragrant  flower-cups ;  then  passing  through  a  pleasant 
forest,  where  she  is  regaled  by  the  terebinthine  odor  of 
pines  mingled  with  that  of  flowering  lindens,  whose 
branches  resound  all  day  with  the  hum  of  insects  and  the 
warbling  of  birds.  Every  green  bank  offers  to  her  hand  a 
profusion  of  wild  strawberries,  and  every  rocky  declivity 


WATER   SCENERY.  CO 

hangs  its  brambles  over  the  stream,  and  tempts  her  with 
delicate  clusters  of  raspberries,  and  other  delicious  fruits. 
How,  if  she  takes  pleasure  in  the  happiness  of  human 
beings,  must  she  be  charmed  by  witnessing  the  plenty 
which  is  everywhere  diffused  by  the  crystal  waters  of  her 
own  stream ;  the  countless  farms  rendered  fertile  and 
productive  through  its  agency;  the  numerous  mill-seats 
that  derive  their  power  from  its  falls  and  rapids,  and 
gather  the  industrious  inhabitants  in  smiling  hamlets 
upon  its  banks !  A  river,  when  pursuing  its  winding 
course  along  the  plain,  alternately  appearing  and  disap- 
pearing among  the  hills  and  woods,  suggests  the  idea 
of  a  pleasant  journey,  and  is  peculiarly  emblematical  of 
human  progress.  It  always  seems  to  me  that  it  must 
conduct  one  to  some  happier  region,  and  that  if  I  traced 
it  to  its  source,  I  should  be  led  into  the  very  temple  of 
the  Naiads ! 

With  the  different  forms  of  water  are  associated  nearly 
all  the  pleasant  images  of  rural  life.  To  one  who  is  tired 
of  his  busy  employments  in  the  city,  a  rural  retreat  is 
like  a  cool  breeze  to  the  traveller  in  a  sultry  desert.  A 
little  arbor,  that  overlooks  a  river,  a  lake,  or  an  arm  of 
the  sea,  derives  its  charms  almost  wholly  from  the  water, 
which  is  at  the  same  time  the  symbol  of  peace  and  plenty, 
and  the  mirror  of  heaven.  A  hermitage  by  the  side  of  a 
stream  affords  a  secret  retreat,  still  more  delightful  from 
its  fancied  association  with  pious  seclusion  from  the 
world  Every  flower  that  looks  up  to  us  from  the  green, 
mossy  turf;  every  bird  that  warbles  in  the  neighboring 
copse ;  and  every  insect  that  hums  in  the  herbage  at  our 
feet,  has  a  soothing  influence,  that  for  a  season  dispels 
every  care  and  every  feverish  excitement.  Then  tin  we 
feel  that  nature  only  has  power  to  administer  that  solace 
which  is  balm  to  the  soul  when  one  is  vexed  with  care 
and  weary  of  men. 


70  WATER   SCENERY. 

One  of  the  sentiments  often  awakened  by  a  water  pros- 
pect is  that  of  sublimity.  But  this  can  only  arise  from 
an  extensive  view  of  the  ocean  or  of  a  cataract.  Ordina- 
rily, therefore,  except  by  the  sea-shore,  we  seldom  behold 
a  sufficient  expanse  of  water  to  affect  us  with  this  sen- 
timent. Its  influence  is  greater  when  a  wide  sea-view 
comes  suddenly  upon  the  eye,  after  one  has  passed 
through  a  succession  of  beautiful,  quiet,  and  rather  con- 
fined scenes.  Small  lakes  and  rivers  greatly  enhance 
the  beauty  of  a  pastoral  landscape,  because  they  afford 
evidence  of  good  pasturage  and  a  plentiful  supply  of  water 
to  the  flocks  and  grazing  herds.  Painters,  taking  advan- 
tage of  this  expression,  often  represent,  in  one  of  their 
side  views,  the  cattle  standing  up  to  their  knees  in  a  little 
pond  of  water,  while  the  green  rushes  and  undefaced 
shrubbery  growing  about  them  make  manifest  its  clear- 
ness and  purity.  Ocean  scenery  is  not  favorable  to  pas- 
toral expression;  but  it  enhances  the  beauty  of  sunrise, 
and  adds  grandeur  to  the  sublimity  of  a  tempest. 

Many  writers  have  eulogized  an  ocean  prospect  as 
beheld  from  a  point  where  we  can  see  no  land.  The 
views  presented  by  the  ocean  from  different  points  on 
the  shore,  which  is  broken  and  intersected  by  frequent 
inlets  of  water,  we  can  never  cease  to  admire ;  but  I  have 
little  sympathy  with  these  lovers  of  boundless  space. 
The  eye  soon  tires  of  gazing  upon  a  scene  that  awakens 
no  emotion  but  that  of  infinity,  and  presents  no  point 
as  a  resting-place  for  the  imagination.  To  the  sublimity 
of  an  ocean  voyage,  with  its  mountainous  waves  and  its 
interminable  azure,  I  prefer  a  boat  excursion  on  a  narrow 
stream,  where  the  trees  on  the  opposite  banks  frequently 
interlace  their  branches  over  the  middle  of  the  current, 
and  the  plashing  of  the  oar  often  startles  the  little  twit- 
tering sandpiper  that  is  feeding  upon  the  edge  of  the 
stream.     The  sight  of  a  small  lake  surrounded  by  woods, 


WATER   SCENERY.  71 

and  dotted  all  round  its  borders  with  full-blown  water- 
lilies,  over  whose  broadspread  leaves  the  little  plover 
glides,  without  impressing  a  ripple  on  the  glossy  brink, 
gives  me  more  pleasure  than  I  could  derive  from  any 
view  of  the  ocean,  bounded  only  by  the  horizon. 

Water  needs  the  accompaniment  of  field  and  wood  to 
form  a  picture  that  is  agreeable  to  the  eye.  Without 
such  adjuncts,  it  is  like  the  sky  when  it  has  no  clouds, 
and  is  void  of  all  pleasing  suggestions.  The  pleasure  of 
angling  on  the  banks  of  a  river  or  a  lake  is  greatly  mag- 
nified by  the  agreeable  combination  of  wood  and  water 
scenery  that  surrounds  us.  The  beauty  of  an  island  is 
like  that  of  a  lake ;  and  it  is  hard  to  say  which  of  the 
two  affects  the  spectator  with  the  most  delight,  though 
I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  majority  would  decide 
in  favor  of  the  island.  The  island,  especially  if  there  be 
a  little  cottage  upon  it,  is  suggestive  of  a  multitude  of 
pleasing  fancies  connected  with  rural  life  and  retirement. 
In  this  case,  we  think  not  so  much  of  the  difficulty  of 
gaining  access  to  town,  or  even  of  coming  on  shore,  as  of 
the  peaceful  seclusion  it  seems  calculated  to  afford.  The 
lake  suggests  no  such  ideas ;  it  is  chiefly  attractive  by  its 
own  beautiful  sheen  of  crystal  water,  by  its  association 
with  boat  excursions  on  serene  afternoons  or  moonlight 
evenings,  and  with  rural  pleasures  connected  with  the 
scenes  on  its  shore. 


APEIL. 

Dear  to  the  poet  and  to  the  lover  of  nature  is  the  month 
of  April,  when  she  first  timidly  plants  her  footsteps  upon 
the  dank  meadow  and  the  mossy  hillside,  clothing  the 
dark  brown  sods  with  tufts  of  greenery,  waking  the  early 
birds,  and  cherishing  the  tender  field-flowers.  Her  hands 
are  ever  busy,  hanging  purple  fringes  upon  the  elm  and 
golden  tassels  upon  the  willow  bough,  and  weaving  for 
the  maple  a  vesture  of  crimson.  She  brings  life  to  the 
frozen  streams,  verdure  to  the  seared  meadows,  and  music 
to  the  woods,  which  have  heard  nothing  for  months  save 
the  solemn  moaning  of  their  own  boughs  and  the  echoes  of 
the  woodman's  axe  from  an  adjoining  fell.  We  welcome 
April  as  the  comforter  of  our  weariness  after  long  con- 
finement, as  the  bearer  of  pleasures  which  her  bounty 
only  can  offer,  as  a  sweet  maiden  entering  the  door  of 
our  prison  with  hands  full  of  budding  flowers  and  breath 
scented  with  violets. 

A  gladness  and  hopefulness  attend  us  on  the  return  of 
spring  which  are  unfelt  at  other  seasons,  and  produce 
a  sensation  like  that  of  the  renewal  of  youth.  We  are 
certainly  more  hopeful  at  this  time  than  in  the  autumn, 
and  we  look  back  upon  the  lapse  of  the  three  winter  months 
with  a  less  painful  sense  of  the  loss  of  so  much  of  our 
allotted  period  of  life  than  upon  the  lapse  of  the  three 
summer  months.  Though  the  flight  of  any  season  carries 
us  equally  onward  in  our  mortal  progress,  we  cannot 
avoid  the  feeling  that  the  lapse  of  winter  is  our  gain 
as  that  of  summer  was  our  loss.     And  surely,  of  these 


APRIL.  73 

two  reflections,  the  one  that  deceives  is  better  than  the 
one  that  utters  the  truth;  and  though  we  are  several 
months  older  than  we  were  in  the  autumn,  we  may  thank 
Heaven  for  the  delusion  that  makes  us  feel  younger. 

Spring,  the  true  season  of  hopefulness  and  action,  is 
unfavorable  to  thought.  So  many  delightful  objects  are 
constantly  inviting  us  to  pleasure,  that  we  are  tempted  to 
neglect  our  serious  pursuits,  and  we  feel  too  much  exhila- 
ration for  confinement  or  study.  It  is  not  while  sur- 
rounded by  pleasures  of  any  kind  that  we  are  most  capable 
of  reflecting  upon  them  or  describing  their  influence ;  for 
the  act  of  thinking  upon  them  requires  a  suspension  of  our 
enjoyments.  Hence,  in  winter  we  can  most  easily  discourse 
upon  the  charms  of  spring  and  summer,  when  the  task 
becomes  a  pleasant  occupation,  by  reviving  the  scenes  of 
past  delights  blended  with  a  foretaste  of  joys  that  are  to 
come.  But  when  the  rising  flowers,  the  perfumed  breezes, 
and  the  music  of  the  animated  tenants  of  the  streams, 
woods,  and  orchards,  are  all  inviting  us  to  come  forth  and 
partake  of  the  pleasures  they  proffer,  it  is  wearisome  to 
sit  down  apart  from  all  these  delights  to  the  compara- 
tively dull  task  of  describing  them. 

As  childhood  is  not  always  happy,  and  as  youth  is  lia- 
ble to  the  sorrows  and  afflictions  of  later  life,  the  spring 
is  not  alwavs  cheerful,  and  the  vernal  skies  are  sometimes 
blackened  with  wintry  tempests,  and  the  earth  bound  in 
ice  and  frost.  Even  in  April  the  little  flowers  that  arc 
just  peeping  out  from  their  winter  coverts  are  often 
greeted  by  snow,  and  spring's  "  ethereal  mildness  is 
exchanged  for  harsh  winds  and  cloudy  skies.  In  vain  do 
the  crocus,  the  snowdrop,  and  the  yellow  narcissus  appear 
in  the  gardens,  or  the  blue  violet  and  the  saxifrage  span- 
gle the  southern  slopes  of  the  hills,  —  the  north-wind  is 
not  tempered  by  their  beauty  nor  beguiled  by  the  songs 
of  the  early  birds. 


74  APRIL. 

April  —  the  morning  of  the  year,  as  March  was  its  twi- 
light, —  that  uncertain  time  when  the  clouds  seem  like 
exiled  wanderers  over  the  blue  field  of  light,  hurrying  in 
disorganized  cohorts  to  some  place  of  rest  or  dissolution  — 
daily  flatters  us  with  hopes  which  she  seems  reluctant  to 
fulfil.  But  every  invisible  agent  of  nature  is  silently 
weaving  a  drapery  of  verdure  to  spread  around  the  foot- 
steps of  the  more  lovely  month  that  is  soon  to  arrive.  We 
see  the  beginnings  of  this  work  of  resurrection  in  thou- 
sands of  small  tufted  rings  of  herbage  scattered  over  the 
fields,  and  daily  multiplying,  until  every  knoll  is  crowned 
with  blue,  white,  and  crimson  flowers  that  will  join  to 
gladden  the  heyday  of  spring. 

When  at  length  the  south-wind  calls  together  his  ver- 
nal messengers,  and  leads  them  forth  in  the  sunshine  to 
their  work  of  gladness,  the  frosty  conqueror  resigns  his 
sceptre,  and  beauty  springs  up  in  the  place  of  desolation. 
The  bee  rebuilds  his  honeyed  masonry,  the  swelling  buds 
redden  in  the  maples,  and  every  spray  of  the  forest  and 
orchard  is  brightened  with  a  peculiar  gloss  that  gives 
character  to  the  vernal  tinting  of  the  woods.  The  ices 
that  have  bound  the  earth  for  half  the  year  are  dissolved ; 
the  mountain  snows  are  spread  out  in  fertilizing  lakes 
upon  the  plains,  and  the  redwing  pipes  his  garrulous 
notes  over  the  abiding-place  of  the  trillium  and  the  meadow 
cowslip.  The  lowlands,  so  magnificent  in  autumn,  when 
glowing  with  a  profusion  of  asters  and  golden-rods,  are 
now  whitened  with  this  sheet  of  glistening  waters,  put 
into  constant  agitation  by  multitudes  of  frogs  tumbling 
about  in  the  shallows  while  engaged  in  their  croaking 
frolics. 

April  is  the  month  of  brilliant  skies  constantly  shad- 
owed by  dark,  rapidly  moving  clouds,  of  brown  meadows 
and  plashy  foot-paths.  The  barren  hills  are  velveted  with 
moss   of  a   perfect   greenness,   delicately  shaded  with  a 


APRIL.  75 

profusion  of  glossy  purple  stems,  like  so  many  hairs,  termi- 
nated with  the  peculiar  flower  of  the  plant ;  and  long  stripes 
of  verdure  mark  the  progress  of  the  new-born  rivulets,  as 
they  pursue  their  irregular  course  down  the  hillside  into 
the  valleys.  But  the  damp  grounds,  frequently  almost  im- 
passable from  standing  water,  are  interspersed  with  little 
dry  knolls  covered  with  mosses  and  lycopodiums,  where 
the  early  flowers  of  spring  delight  to  nestle,  embosomed 
in  their  soft  verdure.  Upon  these  evergreen  mounds  the 
fringed  polygala  spreads  a  beautiful  hue  of  crimson; 
and  while  gathering  its  flowers,  we  discover,  here  and 
there,  a  delicate  wood-anemone,  with  its  mild  eyes  not 
yet  open  to  the  light  of  day.  But  so  few  flowers  are 
abroad  that  the  bee  when  it  comes  forth  in  quest  of 
honey  must  feel  like  one  who  is  lost  and  wandering  in 
space.  It  can  revel  only  in  gardens  where  the  sweet- 
scented  flowers  of  another  clime  spread  abroad  a  perfume 
that  is  but  a  false  signal  of  the  weather  of  its  adopted 
climate. 

The  odors  that  perfume  the  air  in  the  latter  part  of  this 
month  are  chiefly  exhaled  from  the  unfolding  buds  of  the 
flowering  trees  and  shrubs,  and  from  pine  woods.  The 
balm  of  Gilead  and  other  poplars,  while  the  scales  are 
dropping  from  their  hibernacles,  to  loose  the  young  leaves 
and  flowers  from  their  confinement,  afford  the  most  grateful 
of  odors,  and  are  a  part  of  the  peculiar  incense  of  spring. 
But  there  are  exhalations  from  the  soil  in  April,  when 
the  ploughman  is  turning  his  furrows,  that  afford  an 
agreeable  sensation  of  freshness,  almost  like  fragrance, 
resembling  the  scent  of  the  cool  breezes,  which,  wafted 
over  beds  of  dulses  and  sea-weeds,  when  the  tide  is  low, 
often  rise  up  suddenly  in  the  heat  of  summer. 

As  April  advances,  the  familiar  bluebirds  are  busy 
among  the  hollows  of  old  trees,  where  they  rear  their 
young  secure  from  depredation.     Multitudes  of  them,  seen 


76  APRIL. 

usually  in  pairs  and  seldom  in  flocks,  are  distributed  over 
the  orchards,  responding  to  one  another  in  their  few  plain- 
tive, but  cheerful,  notes ;  and  their  fine  azure  plumage  is 
beautifully  conspicuous  as  they  flit  among  the  branches 
of  the  trees.  The  voice  of  the  robin  resounds  in  all  famil- 
iar places,  and  the  song  of  the  linnet  is  heard  in  the 
groves  which  have  lately  echoed  but  with  the  screaming 
of  the  jay  and  the  cawing  of  the  raven.  Young  lambs, 
but  lately  ushered  into  life,  may  be  seen  with  various 
antic  motions,  trying  the  use  of  their  limbs,  that  seem  to 
run  wild  with  them  before  they  have  hardly  ascertained 
their  powers;  and  parties  of  little  children,  some  with 
baskets,  employed  in  gathering  salads,  others  engaged  in 
picking  the  scarlet  fruit  of  the  checkerberry,  will  often 
pause  from  their  occupations  with  delight  to  watch  the 
frolics  of  these  happy  creatures. 

The  small  beetles  that  whirl  about  on  the  surface  of 
still  waters  have  commenced  their  gambols  anew,  and 
fishes  are  again  seen  darting  about  in  the  streams.  A  few 
butterflies,  companions  of  the  crocus  and  the  violet,  are 
flitting  in  irregular  courses  over  the  plains ;  the  spider  is 
hanging  by  his  invisible  thread  from  the  twigs  of  the 
orchard  trees,  and  insects  are  swarming  in  sunny  places. 
The  leaves  of  the  last  autumn,  disinterred  from  the  snow, 
are  once  more  rustling  to  the  winds  and  to  the  leaping 
motions  of  the  squirrel.  Small  tortoises  are  basking  in 
the  sunshine  upon  the  logs  that  extend  into  the  pool ; 
and  as  we  draw  near  we  see  their  glistening  armor,  as 
with  awkward  haste  they  plunge  into  the  water.  The 
ices  which  had  accumulated  around  the  sea-shore  have 
disappeared,  and  the  little  fishes  that  congregate  near  the 
edcres  of  the  salt-water  creeks  make  a  tremulous  motion 
of  the  water,  as  upon  our  sudden  approach  they  dart  away 
from  the  shallows  into  the  deeper  sea. 

The  sun  has  sunk  below  the  horizon.    The  wind  is  still, 


APRIL.  77 

and  the  countless  lakes  that  cover  the  meadows  reflect 
from  their  mirrored  surfaces  an  image  of  every  cloud  that 
floats  above  them.  The  bright-eyed  evening  star  now 
shines  alone.  The  lowing  of  cattle  is  heard  only  at  inter- 
vals from  the  farmyards,  and  the  occasional  sound  of  dis- 
tant bells  is  borne  softly  in  the  hush  of  day's  decline. 
The  birds  are  silent  in  the  woods,  save  now  and  then  a 
solitary  one,  greeted  perhaps  by  a  lingering  sunbeam  re- 
flected from  a  radiant  cloud,  will  sing  a  few  twittering 
notes  of  gladness.  But  nature  is  not  silent.  The  notes 
of  myriads  of  little  piping  musicians  rise  in  a  delightfully 
swelling  chorus,  from  every  lake  and  stream,  now  louden- 
ing with  an  increased  multitude  of  voices,  then  dying 
away  into  a  momentary  silence.  These  sounds  are  the 
charm  of  an  April  evening ;  and  in  my  early  days  I  lis- 
tened to  them  with  more  pleasure  than  to  the  sweetest 
strains  of  music,  as  prophetic  of  the  reviving  beauties  of 
nature.  And  now,  when  the  first  few  piping  notes  fall 
upon  my  ear,  my  mind  is  greeted  by  a  vision  of  dearly 
remembered  joys  that  crowd  vividly  upon  the  memory. 
These  tender  recollections,  blended  with  the  hopes  and 
anticipations  of  spring,  serve  with  peculiar  force  to  tran- 
quillize the  mind  and  render  it  cheerful  and  satisfied  with 
the  world. 


THE  PLUMAGE   OF  BIEDS. 

The  colors  and  forms  of  the  plumage  of  birds  are  gen- 
erally regarded  as  mere  accidents,  unattended  with  any 
advantages  in  their  economy.  I  cannot  believe,  however, 
that  they  are  not  in  some  way,  which  we  cannot  fully 
understand,  indispensable  to  their  existence  as  a  species. 
Let  me  then  endeavor  to  discover,  if  possible,  the  design 
of  Nature  in  spreading  such  a  variety  of  tints  upon  the 
plumage  of  birds,  and  to  learn  the  advantages  they  derive 
from  these  native  ornaments.  Do  they  affect  the  vision 
of  birds  with  the  sensation  of  beauty,  and  serve  to  attract 
together  individuals  of  the  same  species  ?  Or  are  they 
designed  also  to  protect  them  from  the  keen  sight  of  their 
enemies,  while  flitting  among  the  blossoms  of  the  trees  ? 
It  is  probable  that  each  of  these  purposes  is  subserved  by 
this  provision  of  Nature.  She  has  clothed  individuals 
of  the  same  species  and  the  same  sex  with  uniformity, 
that  they  may  readily  identify  their  own  kindred,  and  has 
given  them  an  innate  susceptibility  to  derive  pleasure  from 
those  colors  that  predominate  in  the  plumage  of  their  own 
species.  She  has  likewise  distinguished  the  small  birds 
that  live  on  trees  by  beautiful  colors,  while  those  in  gen- 
eral that  run  upon  the  ground  are  marked  by  neutral 
tints,  that  the  former  may  be  less  easily  observed  among 
the  blossoms  of  the  trees,  and  that  the  latter  may  be  less 
conspicuous  while  sitting  or  running  upon  the  ground. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  males  of  many  species  are 
more  beautifully  and  brilliantly  decorated  than  the  fe- 
males, and  that  the   singing-birds  in  general    have   less 


PLUMAGE   OF   BIRDS.  70 

beauty  of  color  than  the  unmusical  species.  As  an  ex- 
planation of  this  fact  we  must  consider  that  the  singing- 
birds  are  more  humble  in  their  habitats  than  others. 
The  brightly  colored  birds  chiefly  frequent  the  forests  and 
lofty  trees.  Such  are  the  woodpecker,  the  troupial,  and 
many  species  of  tropical  birds.  The  northern  temper- 
ate latitudes  are  the  region  of  the  grasses,  which  afford 
sustenance  to  a  large  proportion  of  the  singing-birds  —  the 
finches  and  buntings  —  of  that  part  of  the  world.  Some 
of  the  finches  are  high-colored,  but  these  usually  build  in 
trees,  like  the  purple  finch  and  the  goldfinch.  But  the 
sparrows  and  the  larks,  that  build  in  a  bush  or  on  the 
ground,  are  plainly  dressed.  The  thrushes,  which  are 
equally  plain  in  their  dress,  build  in  low  bushes,  and  take 
their  food  chiefly  from  the  ground.  Indeed,  it  might 
be  practicable  to  distinguish  among  a  variety  of  strange 
birds  the  species  that  live  and  nestle  in  trees  by  their 
brighter  plumage. 

In  our  own  latitude  the  species  that  frequent  the 
shrubbery  are  of  a  brown  or  olive-brown  of  different 
shades.  They  are  dressed  in  colors  that  blend  with  the 
general  tints  of  the  ground  and  herbage  while  they  are 
seeking  their  food  or  sitting  upon  their  nests.  Birds, 
however,  do  not  differ  much  in  the  colors  of  the  hidden 
parts  of  their  plumage.  Beneath  they  are  almost  uni- 
versally of  grayish  or  whitish  tints,  so  that,  while  sitting 
on  a  branch,  the  reptiles  lurking  for  them  may  not,  when 
looking  upward,  distinguish  them  from  the  lines  of  the 
clouds  and  the  sky  and  the  grayish  undersurface  of  the 
leaves  of  trees.  "Water-birds  are  generally  gray  all  over, 
except  a  tinge  of  blue  in  their  plumage  above.  Ducks, 
however,  are  many  of  them  variegated  with  green  and 
other  colors  that  harmonize  with  the  weeds  and  plants 
of  the  shore  upon  which  they  feed. 

Nature  works  on    the  same  plan  in  guarding  insects 


80  PLUMAGE   OF   BIRDS. 

and  reptiles  from  the  sight  of  their  foes.  Thus,  the  toad 
is  colored  like  the  soil  of  the  garden,  while  the  colors  of 
the  common  frog  that  lives  among  the  green  rushes  and 
aquatic  mosses  are  green,  and  the  tree-frog  is  of  a  mottled 
gray,  like  the  outer  bark  of  old  trees.  Grasshoppers  are 
generally  greenish ;  but  there  is  a  species  found  among 
the  gray  lichens  on  our  rocky  hills  which  is  the  color  of 
the  surface  of  these  rocks. 

Among  the  singing-birds  of  this  country  which  are 
remarkable  for  their  brilliant  colors  are  the  golden  oriole, 
the  scarlet  tanager,  and  the  American  goldfinch.  All 
these  species  build  their  nests  in  trees,  and  seldom  run 
on  the  ground.  The  goldfinch  feeds  upon  the  seeds  of 
compound  flowers,  which  are  mostly  yellow.  His  plu- 
mage of  gold  and  olive  allows  him  to  escape  the  sight 
of  an  enemy  while  picking  seeds  from  the  disk  of  a  sun- 
flower or  from  a  cluster  of  goldenrods. 

But  why  are  the  females  plainly  dressed  and  the  males 
alone  adorned  with  brilliant  colors  ?  It  may  be  answered, 
that,  as  the  female  performs  the  duties  of  incubation,  if 
she  were  brightly  colored  like  the  male,  she  would  be 
more  readily  descried  by  a  bird  of  prey  while  sitting  on 
her  nest.  The  male,  on  the  contrary,  while  hunting 
among  the  blossoms  and  foliage  of  trees  for  his  insect 
food,  is  not  so  readily  distinguished  from  the  flowers,  for 
in  temperate  latitudes  the  breeding  season  is  the  time 
when  the  trees  are  in  blossom.  After  the  young  are 
reared  and  the  flowers  have  faded,  several  species  dis- 
pense with  their  brilliant  colors  and  assume  the  plain 
hues  of  the  female. 

We  must  consider,  however,  that  the  beautiful  colors 
of  the  plumage  of  the  male  birds  serve  to  render  them 
more  conspicuous  objects  of  attraction  to  the  females. 
Hence,  in  the  early  part  of  the  year,  just  before  the  time 
of  courtship  arrives,  Nature  has  provided  that  the  plumage 


PLUMAGE   OF   BIRDS.  81 

of  various  kinds  of  birds  should  suffer  a  metamorphosis. 
Thus  the  bobolink  exchanges  his  winter  garment  of  yel- 
lowish-brown for  one  of  brilliant  straw-color  and  black  ; 
and  the  red-winged  blackbird  casts  off  his  tawny  suit 
for  one  of  glossy  jet,  with  epaulettes  of  scarlet.  What 
are  the  useful  ends  subserved  by  this  mysterious  pro- 
vision of  Nature  ?  She  clothes  them  with  beauty  and 
endows  them  with  song  at  a  period  when  their  success 
as  lovers  depends  greatly  on  the  multitude  and  power  of 
their  attractions.  Among  the  beautiful  species  their  suc- 
cess is  in  proportion  to  the  splendor  of  their  plumage ; 
and  among  the  warblers,  to  the  charms  of  their  voice. 
Beauty  and  song  are  the  means  Nature  has  furnished 
them,  whereby  they  may  render  themselves,  I  will  not 
say  agreeable,  but  attractive.  I  do  not  suppose  a  beau- 
tiful male  bird  is  preferred  to  a  plain  one  of  the  same 
species ;  but  his  beauty  causes  him  to  be  sooner  discov- 
ered by  an  unmated  female. 

It  is  easy  to  explain,  therefore,  on  the  principle  of  com- 
pensation, why  handsome  birds  in  general  are  endowed 
with  inferior  musical  powers.  They  are  able  to  accom- 
plish by  their  beauty  of  plumage  what  the  plainer  species 
do  by  their  songs.  It  may  be  observed  that  the  hand- 
some birds,  when  engaged  in  courtship,  place  themselves 
in  attitudes  which  are  calculated  to  display  the  full  beauty 
of  their  plumage ;  while  the  songsters  under  the  same 
circumstances  pour  forth  an  unusual  strain  of  melody. 
The  hues  of  the  brightly  colored  male  birds  may  be  a 
means  of  assisting  their  young  in  identifying  them  after 
they  have  left  their  nest.  They  hear,  for  example,  the  loud 
call-note  of  the  golden  robin,  and  immediately  they  recog- 
nize him  by  his  colors,  when,  if  plainly  dressed,  they  might 
not  discover  him.  As  soon  as  they  behold  him  they  com- 
mence their  chirping  and  are  greeted  by  the  old  bird. 

There  is  one  numerous  tribe  of  birds   that  run  upon 

4*  F 


82  PLUMAGE   OF   BIRDS. 

the  ground,  whose  males,  except  those  of  a  few  species, 
are  very  brilliantly  decorated.  This  is  the  gallinaceous 
family,  which  are  an  exception  to  my  remark  that  the 
handsome  birds  inhabit  trees.  But  it  is  only  the  larger 
species  or  genera  of  this  family,  such  as  the  pheasant,  the 
turkey,  the  peacock,  the  curassow,  and  the  common  fowl, 
whose  males  are  thus  gorgeously  arrayed.  Their  colors  are 
evidently  intended  for,  their  protection  in  a  peculiar  way. 
All  the  males  of  these  species  are  endowed  with  a  pro- 
pensity to  ruffle  and  expand  their  feathers  whenever  they 
are  threatened  with  attack.  The  boldest  animal  would 
be  frightened  by  the  sudden  expansion  of  the  brilliant 
plumage  of  the  peacock,  and  the  loud  vibrations  of  his 
tail-feathers  when  he  places  himself  in  this  strange  at- 
titude. A  gorgeous  spectacle  suddenly  presented,  and  so 
different  from  anything  that  is  commonly  seen,  would 
overawe  even  the  king  of  beasts.  Similar  effects  in  a 
weaker  degree  would  be  produced  by  the  ruffled  plumage 
of  the  turkey  or  the  pheasant.  It  is  worthy  of  remark, 
that  in  proportion  to  the  brilliancy  of  the  colors  is  the 
strength  of  the  impression  made  upon  the  sight  of  the 
creature  that  threatens  them.  The  tendency  of  wild  ani- 
mals to  be  frightened  by  such  causes  is  shown  by  the 
terror  produced  in  them  by  the  sudden  opening  of  an 
umbrella.  But  these  brilliant  plumes  are  confined  to  the 
larger  species  of  the  tribe.  Quails,  partridges,  and  grouse 
are  generally  colored  like  the  ground,  being  of  a  speckled 
or  brownish  hue,  and  are  distinguished  with  difficulty 
when  sitting  or  standing  among  the  berry-bushes  or 
gleaning  their  repast  in  the  cornfield.  Too  small  to 
defend  themselves  so  well  as  the  larger  species,  their 
colors  are  adapted  to  protect  them  by  concealment,  and 
not  by  dazzling  and  alarming  their  foes. 


BIRDS   OF  THE  GAEDEN  AND   ORCHARD. 

III. 

THE  ROBIN. 

Our  American  birds  have  not  been  celebrated  in  classic 
song.  They  are  hardly  well  known  even  to  our  own  peo- 
ple, and  have  not  in  general  been  exalted  by  praise  above 
their  real  merits.  We  read,  both  in  prose  and  verse,  of  the 
European  Lark,  the  Linnet,  and  the  Nightingale,  and  the 
English  Robin  Redbreast  has  been  immortalized  in  son". 
But  the  American  Robin  is  a  bird  of  very  different  habits. 
Not  much  has  been  written  about  him  as  a  songster,  and 
he  enjoys  but  little  celebrity.  He  has  never  been  puffed 
and  overpraised,  and  though  universally  admired,  the  many 
who  admire  him  are  fearful  all  the  while  lest  they  are 
mistaken  in  their  judgment  and  waste  their  admiration 
upon  an  object  that  is  unworthy  of  it,  —  one  whose  true 
merits  fall  short  of  their  own  estimate.  It  is  the  same 
want  of  self-reliance  affecting  the  generality  of  minds 
which  often  causes  every  man  publicly  to  praise  what 
each  one  privately  condemns,  thus  creating  a  spurious 
public  opinion. 

I  shall  not  ask  pardon  of  those  critics  who  are  always 
canting  about  musical  "power,"  and  who  would  probably 
deny  this  gift  to  the  Robin,  because  he  cannot  gobble  like 
a  turkey  or  squall  like  a  cat,  and  because  with  his  charm- 
ing strains  he  does  not  mingle  all  sorts  of  discords  and 
incongruous  sounds,  for  assigning  the  Robin  a  very 
high  rank  as  a  singing-bird.  Let  them  say,  in  the  rant 
of    modern   criticism,  that   his  performances  cannot  be 


84       BIRDS  OF  THE  GARDEN  AND  ORCHARD. 

great  because  they  are  faultless.  It  is  enough  for  me  that 
his  mellow  notes,  heard  at  the  earliest  flush  of  dawn,  in 
the  busy  hour  of  noon,  or  in  the  stillness  of  evening,  come 
to  the  ear  in  a  stream  of  unqualified  melody,  as  if  he  had 
learned  to  sing  from  the  beautiful  Dryad  who  taught  the 
Lark  and  the  Nightingale.  The  Eobin  is  surpassed  by 
some  other  birds  in  certain  qualities  of  song.  The  Mock- 
ing-Bird  has  more  "  power,"  the  Eed  Thrush  more  vari- 
ety, the  Bobolink  more  animation;  but  there  is  no  bird 
that  has  fewer  faults  than  the  Eobin,  or  that  would  be 
more  esteemed  as  a  constant  companion,  —  a  vocalist  for 
all  hours,  whose  strains  never  tire  and  never  offend. 

There  are  thousands  who  admire  the  Mocking-Bird, 
because,  after  pouring  forth  a  long-continued  medley  of 
disagreeable  and  ridiculous  sounds,  or  a  series  of  two  or 
three  notes,  repeated  more  than  a  hundred  times  in  unin- 
terrupted and  monotonous  succession,  he  concludes  with 
a  single  delightfully  modulated  strain.  He  often  brings 
his  tiresome  extravaganzas  to  a  magnificent  climax  of 
melody,  and  as  often  concludes  an  inimitable  chant  with 
a  most  contemptible  bathos.  But  the  notes  of  the  Eobin 
are  all  melodious,  all  delightful,  loud  without  vociferation, 
mellow  without  monotony,  fervent  without  ecstasy,  and 
combining  more  of  sweetness  of  tone,  plaintiveness,  cheer- 
fulness, and  propriety  of  utterance  than  the  notes  of  any 
other  bird. 

The  Eobin  is  the  Philomel  of  morning  twilight  in  New 
England  and  in  all  the  northeastern  States  of  this  conti- 
nent. If  his  sweet  notes  were  wanting,  the  mornings 
would  be  like  a  landscape  without  the  rose,  or  a  summer- 
evening  sky  without  tints.  He  is  the  chief  performer  in 
the  delightful  anthem  that  welcomes  the  rising  day.  Of 
others  the  best  are  but  accompaniments  of  more  or  less 
importance.  Remove  the  Eobin  from  this  woodland  or- 
chestra, and  it  would  be  left  without  a  soprano.     Over  all 


BIRDS    OF   THE    GARDEN   AND    ORCHARD.  XT, 

the  northern  parts  of  this  continent,  wherever  there  are 
human  settlements,  the  Robins  are  numerous  and  familiar. 
There  is  not  an  orchard  in  New  England,  or  in  the  Brit- 
ish Provinces,  that  is  not  enlivened  by  several  of  these 
musicians.  When  we  consider  the  millions  thus  distrib- 
uted over  this  broad  country,  we  can  imagine  the  sublim- 
ity of  that  chorus  which  from  the  middle  of  April  until 
the  last  of  July  daily  ascends  to  heaven  from  the  voices 
of  these  birds,  not  one  male  of  which  is  silent  from  the 
earliest  dawn  until  sunrise. 

The  Robin,  when  reared  in  confinement,  is  one  of  the 
most  affectionate  and  interesting  of  birds.  A  neighbor 
and  relative  of  mine  kept  one  twenty  years.  He  would 
leave  his  cage  frequently,  hop  about  the  house  and  gar- 
den and  return.  He  not  only  repeated  his  original 
notes,  but  several  strains  of  artificial  music.  Though  not 
prone  to  imitation,  the  Robin  may  be  taught  to  imitate 
the  notes  of  other  birds.  I  heard  a  tamed  Robin  in  Ten- 
nessee whistle  "  Over  the  Water  to  Charlie,"  without  miss- 
ing a  note.  Indeed,  this  bird  is  so  tractable  in  his  dispo- 
sition and  so  intelligent,  that  I  believe  he  might  be  taught 
to  sing  any  simple  melody. 

But  why  should  we  set  any  value  on  his  power  of 
learning  artificial  music  ?  Even  if  he  should  perform  like 
a  flautist,  it  would  not  enhance  his  value  as  a  minstrel  of 
the  grove.  We  are  concerned  with  the  singing-birds  only 
as  they  are  in  a  state  of  nature  and  in  their  native  fields 
and  woods.  It  is  the  simplicity  of  their  songs  that  con- 
stitutes their  principal  charm;  and  if  the  different  war- 
blers were  so  changed  in  their  nature  as  to  relinquish 
their  wild  notes  and  sing  only  tunes,  we  should  listen  to 
them  with  as  much  indifference  as  to  the  whistling  of 
boys  on  the  road. 


86  BIRDS   OF   THE    GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD. 


THE  BALTIMORE   ORIOLE. 

About  the  middle  of  May,  as  soon  as  the  cherry-trees 
are  in  blossom,  and  when  the  oak  and  the  maple  are  be- 
ginning to  unfold  their  plaited  leaves,  the  loud  and  ani- 
mated notes  of  the  Golden  Eobin  are  first  heard  in  New 
England.  I  have  never  known  a  bird  of  this  species  to 
arrive  before  that  period.  They  seem  to  be  governed  by 
the  supply  of  their  insect-food,  which  probably  becomes 
abundant  at  the  same  time  with  the  flowering  of  the 
orchards.  On  their  arrival  they  may  be  observed  dili- 
gently hunting  among  the  branches  and  foliage  of  the 
trees,  making  a  particular  examination  of  the  blossoms  for 
the  flies  and  beetles  that  are  lodged  in  them. 

While  the  Oriole  is  thus  employed  in  search  of  food, 
which  he  obtains  almost  exclusively  from  trees,  he  fre- 
quently utters  his  brief  but  loud  and  melodious  notes. 
Of  this  species,  the  males  arrive  a  few  days  before  the 
females,  and  at  first  utter  only  a  few  call-notes,  which 
on  the  arrival  of  their  mates  are  lengthened  into  a  song. 
This  seldom  consists  of  more  than  five  or  six  notes,  though 
the  strain  is  sometimes  immediately  repeated.  Almost 
all  remarkable  singing-birds  give  themselves  up  entirely 
to  song  on  their  musical  occasions,  and  pay  no  regard  to 
other  demands  upon  their  time  until  they  have  concluded. 
But  the  Golden  Eobin  never  relaxes  from  his  industry, 
nor  remains  stationed  upon  the  branch  of  a  tree  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  singing.  He  sings,  like  an  industrious 
maid-of-all-work,  only  while  employed  in  his  sylvan  oc- 
cupations. 

The  Baltimore  Oriole  is  said  to  inhabit  North  America 
from  Canada  to  Mexico  ;  but  the  species  are  most  abundant 
in  the  northeastern  parts  of  the  continent,  and  a  greater 
number  of  them  breed  in  the  New  England  States  than 
either  south  or  west  of  this  section.     They  are  also  more 


BIRDS    OF    THE    GARDEN    AND    ORCHARD.  87 

numerous  in  villages  and  in  the  suburbs  of  cities  than  in 
the  wilder  regions  where  there  is  less  tillage.  Their  pe- 
culiar manner  of  protecting  their  nests  by  hanging  them 
from  the  spray  of  a  tall  elm  or  other  lofty  tree  enables 
them  to  rear  their  young  in  security,  even  when  sur- 
rounded by  the  dwellings  of  men.  The  only  animals  that 
are  able  to  reach  their  nests  are  the  smaller  squirrels, 
which  have  been  known  to  descend  the  long  slender 
branches  that  sustain  the  nest,  and  to  devour  the  eggs. 
This  depredation  I  have  never  witnessed ;  but  have  seen 
the  red  squirrel  descend  in  this  manner  upon  the  spray 
of  an  elm,  and  seize  the  chrysalis  of  a  certain  insect 
which  was  rolled  up  in  a  leaf. 

The  lively  motions  and  general  activity  of  the  Golden 
Eobin,  no  less  than  his  song,  render  him  interesting  and 
attractive.  He  is  remarkable  for  his  vivacity,  and  his 
bright  colors  make  all  his  movements  conspicuous.  His 
plumage  needs  no  description,  since  every  one  is  familiar 
with  it,  as  its  hues  are  seen  like  flashes  of  fire  among 
the  green  foliage.  Associated  with  these  motions  are  his 
notes  of  anger  and  complaint,  which  have  a  peculiar  vi- 
bratory sound,  somewhat  harsh,  but  not  unmusical. 

The  Golden  Eobin  is  said  to  possess  considerable  power 
of  musical  imitation ;  but  it  may  be  observed  that  in  all 
his  attempts  he  gives  the  notes  of  those  birds  only  whose 
voice  resembles  his  own.  Thus  he  often  repeats  the  song 
of  the  Virginia  Redbird.  This  I  do  not  consider  an  imi- 
tation, but  a  mere  change  of  his  own  melody  in  a  slight 
degree.  The  few  notes  of  his  own  song  he  utters  fre- 
quently, and  with  great  force  and  a  fine  modulation. 
Sometimes  for  several  days  he  confines  himself  to  a  sin- 
gle strain,  and  then  for  about  the  same  length  of  time 
lie  will  adopt  another.  Sometimes  he  extends  his  few 
brief  notes  into  a  lengthened  melody,  and  sings  as  in  an 
ecstasy,  like  birds  of  the  Finch  tribe.     Occasionally  also 


88 


BIRDS    OF   THE   GARDEN   AND    ORCHARD. 


he  sings  on  the  wing,  not  while  hovering  over  one  spot, 
but  while  flying  from  one  tree  to  another.  Such  musical 
paroxysms  are  rare  in  his  case,  and  seem  to  be  caused  by 
some  momentary  exultation. 

The  Golden  Robin  rears  but  one  brood  of  young  in 
New  England,  and  his  cheerful  notes  are  discontinued 
soon  after  they  have  left  their  nest.  The  song  of  the 
old  bird  seems,  after  this  event,  hardly  necessary  as  a 
call-note  to  the  offspring,  who  keep  up  an  incessant  chirp- 
ing from  the  moment  of  leaving  their  nest  until  they 
are  able  to  accompany  their  parents  to  the  woods.  They 
probably  retire  to  the  forest  for  security,  and  vary  their 
subsistence  by  searching  for  insects  that  occupy  a  wilder 
locality.  It  is  remarkable  that  after  an  absence  and 
silence  of  two  or  three  weeks  from  the  flight  of  their 
young  the  Golden  Robins  suddenly  make  their  appearance 
once  again  for  a  few  days,  uttering  the  same  merry  notes 
with  which  they  announced  their  arrival  in  May.  But 
this  renewal  of  their  song  is  not  continued  many  days. 
We  seldom  see  them  after  the  middle  of  August.  They 
leave  for  their  winter  quarters  early  in  autumn. 


te-hoo,   tee-hoo,   te  -  oo,   te-hoo,  te-hoo,     t  - 1  - 1  - 1,    tee-hoo,  te  -  oo. 


THE   MEADOW-LARK. 

This  bird  is  no  longer,  as  formerly,  a  Lark.  Originally 
an  Alauda,  he  has  since  been  an  Oriolus,  an  Icterus,  a 
Cacicus,  and  a  Sturnus.  He  has  shuffled  off  all  his  for- 
mer identities,  and  is  now  a  Sturnella  magna.  I  will  not 
enter  into  a  calculation  of  the  metamorphoses  he  may  yet 
undergo.  By  the  magic  charm  of  some  inventor  of  another 
new  nomenclature ;  by  the  ingenuity  of  some  Kant  in 


BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN   AND   ORCHARD.  89 

Natural  History,  —  if  this  science  be  doomed  ever  to  suf- 
fer such  a  curse,  when,  by  the  use  of  new  names  for  every 
thought  of  the  human  mind,  we  shall  all  be  reduced  to  a 
sudden  ignorance  of  everything  we  once  knew,  and  ren- 
dered incapable  of  talking  or  writing  without  constant 
reference  to  a  new  dictionary  of  terms,  —  the  Meadow- 
Lark  may  yet  be  discovered  to  be  no  bird  at  all,  but  a 
mere  myth  of  the  meadows. 

The  Meadow-Lark,  though  not  the  "  Messenger  of 
Morn"  that  "calls  up  the  tuneful  nations,"  and  though 
perhaps  not  properly  classed  among  our  singing-birds,  has 
a  peculiar  lisping  note  which  is  very  agreeable,  and  not 
unlike  some  of  the  strains  in  the  song  of  the  English 
"Wood-Lark,  as  I  have  heard  them  from  a  caged  bird.  Its 
notes  are  heard  soon  after  those  of  the  Robin,  the  earliest 
messenger  of  morn  among  our  singing-birds.  They  are 
shrill,  drawling,  and  plaintive,  sometimes  reminding  me 
of  the  less  musical  notes  of  the  Eedwing  and  sometimes 
of  the  more  musical  and  feeble  song  of  the  Green  War- 
bler. jSTuttall  very  aptly  describes  its  notes  by  the  sylla- 
bles et-sce-dee-ah,  each  one  drawled  out  to  a  considerable 
length.  These  are  repeated  at  all  hours  of  the  day ;  in- 
deed, they  are  almost  incessant,  for  hardly  a  minute 
passes  when,  if  a  pair  of  the  birds  are  located  in  an  ad- 
joining field,  you  may  not  hear  them.  It  is  the  constant 
repetition  of  their  song  that  has  led  gunners  to  the  dis- 
covery of  the  birds,  which,  if  they  had  been  silent,  might 
have  escaped  notice. 

That  numerous  class  of  men  who  would  be  more  en- 
raptured at  the  sight  of  "  four-and-twenty  blackbirds 
baked  in  a  pie  "  than  at  the  sound  of  their  notes,  though 
they  equalled  those  of  the  Nightingale,  —  men  who  nevei 
look  upon  a  bird  save  with  the  eyes  and  disposition  ol  a 
prowling  cat,  and  who  display  their  knowledge  of  the 
feathered  race  chiefly  at  the  gun-shops,  —  martial  heroes 


90       BIRDS  OF  THE  GARDEN  AND  ORCHARD. 

among  innocent  songsters,  —  have  not  overlooked  a  bird  so 
large  and  plump  as  the  Meadow-Lark.  Vain  is  its  lisp- 
ing and  plaintive  song ;  vain  is  the  beauty  displayed  in 
its  hovering  and  graceful  flight,  in  its  variegated  plumage 
and  its  interesting  ways !  All  these  things  serve  but  to 
render  its  species  the  more  conspicuous  mark  for  gunners, 
who  have  hunted  them  so  incessantly  that,  they  are  now 
as  shy  as  the  persecuted  Crow,  and  as  elusive  a  mark  for 
the  sportsman  as  a  Loon. 

Samuels  says  that  "usually  one  bird  of  a  flock  is 
perched  on  a  tree  or  a  fence-post  as  a  sentinel,  and  the 
moment  a  gunner  approaches,  the  bird  gives  his  alarm," 
when  all  the  flock  take  wing.  The  Meadow-Lark  is  vari- 
egated above  with  different  shades  of  yellow  and  brown ; 
beneath,  a  lighter-  brown  speckled  with  black.  Its  flight 
is  very  graceful,  though  not  vigorous.  The  motions  of  its 
wings  are  rapid  and  intermittent,  the  slight  pauses  in 
their  vibratory  motions  giving  them  a  character  quite 
unique. 

THE   CEDAB-BIRD. 

Little  bird,  that  watchest  the  season  of  mellow  fruits, 
and  makest  thy  appearance  like  a  guest  who  comes  only 
on  feast-days,  and,  like  a  truant  urchin,  takest  the  fair 
products  of  the  garden  without  leave  of  the  owner,  saying 
not  even  a  grace  over  thy  meals  like  the  Preacher,  but 
silently  taking  thy  fill,  and  then  leaving  without  even  a 
song  of  thankfulness,  —  still  I  will  welcome  thee  to  the 
festival  of  Nature,  both  for  thy  comely  presence  and  thy 
cheerful  and  friendly  habit  with  thy  fellows. 

The  Cedar-Bird  is  not  a  songster.  It  seldom  utters 
any  note  save  the  lisp  that  may  always  be  heard  when  it 
is  within  sight.  Dr.  Brewer,  who  kept  a  wounded  one  in 
a  cage,  mentions  that  "  beside  its  low,  lisping  call,  this 
bird  had  a  regular,  faint  attempt  at  a  song  of  several  low 


BIRDS    OF    THE    GARDEN   AND    ORCHARD.  01 

notes,  uttered  in  so  low  a  tone  that  it  would  be  almost 
inaudible,  even  at  a  short  distance.  It  became  perfectly 
contented  in  confinement,  and  appeared  fond  of  such 
members  of  the  family  as  noticed  it."  He  says  of  this 
species  as  proof  of  their  devotion  to  one  another  and  their 
offspring :  "  Once  when  one  had  been  taken  in  a  net 
spread  over  strawberries,  its  mate  refused  to  leave  it, 
suffered  itself  to  be  taken  by  the  hand  in  its  anxiety  to 
free  its  mate,  and,  when  set  at  liberty,  would  not  leave 
until  its  mate  had  also  been  released  and  permitted  to  go 
with  it." 

According  to  Nuttall,  during  the  mating  season,  they 
are  always  caressing  each  other  like  Turtle  Doves.  There 
is  a  manifestation  of  mutual  fondness  between  these 
social  birds.  A  friend  assured  him  that  he  had  seen  one 
anions?  a  row  of  them  seize  an  insect  and  offer  it  to  its 
next  neighbor,  who  passed  it  to  the  next,  each  politely 
declining  the  offer,  until  it  had  passed  backwards  and  for- 
wards several  times. 

The  Cedar-Bird  is  not  exclusively  frugivorous.  In  the 
spring  and  early  summer,  before  the  berries  are  ripe,  it 
feeds  wholly  upon  insects  and  their  larvae.  As  a  compen- 
sation for  the  mischief  done  by  the  bird  and  its  fellows 
among  the  fruit-trees,  they  destroy  vast  numbers  of  can- 
ker-worms, taking  them  when  they  are  very  small  and 
nestled  in  the  flower-cup  of  the  apple-tree.  The  ex- 
cessive multiplication  of  the  canker-worm  seems  a  di- 
rect consequence  of  the  proportional  diminution  of  this 
and  a  few  other  valuable  though  mischievous  species. 
Those  cultivators  who  would  gladly  extirpate  the  boys 
as  well  as  the  birds,  taking  care  to  save  boys  enough  to 
kill  the  birds,  might,  instead  of  persecuting  the  Cedar-Bird, 
find  it  more  profitable  in  the  end  to  pay  a  tax  for  its  pres- 
ervation. 

This   bird   is   very   fond   of  the  juniper.      Its   usual 


92       BIRDS  OF  THE  GARDEN  AND  ORCHARD. 

abode  is  among  the  junipers.  From  these,  when  rambling 
in  the  woods,  you  will  often  start  a  flock  ;  for  they  are 
easily  alarmed  on  account  of  the  pertinacity  with  which 
they  have  been  hunted.  It  is  seldom  we  see  one  bird  of 
this  species,  without  at  least  six  or  eight  more  in  its  com- 
pany. Their  habit  of  assembling  in  small  flocks  renders 
them  more  liable  to  be  extirpated ;  for  those  who  would 
grudge  a  charge  of  powder  and  shot  for  the  flesh  of  a  sin- 
gle bird  are  delighted  to  shoot  into  a  flock,  when  perhaps 
six  or  eight  little  tender  birds  will  fall  to  the  ground. 

The  Cedar-Bird  is  remarkable  for  the  elegance  of  its 
shape  ;  and  though  the  colors  of  its  plumage  are  not  brill- 
iant, they  are  exceedingly  fine  and  delicate.  Its  general 
color  above  is  a  reddish-brown,  slightly  tinged  with  olive ; 
somewhat  brighter  on  the  breast,  dark  in  the  throat,  tail 
tipped  with  yellow,  forehead  with  a  black  line  over  the 
eyes,  and  little  scarlet  beads  upon  the  outer  wing-feathers, 
resembling  dots  of  red  sealing- wTax. 


THE  INDIGO-BIRD. 

Some  of  the  earliest  nests  I  discovered  in  my  boyhood 
were  those  of  the  Indigo-Bird,  of  which,  for  several  suc- 
cessive years,  there  were  two  or  three  in  a  grove  of  young 
locust-trees  near  the  building  where  I  attended  school. 
Hence  I  have  always  associated  this  bird  with  the  locust- 
tree.  Every  one  admires  the  beauty  of  the  Indigo-Bird,  — 
its  plumage  of  dark-blue,  with  green  reflections  when  in 
a  certain  light  Its  color  is  not  that  of  the  Bluebird ; 
but  more  nearly  resembles  a  piece  of  indigo,  being 
almost  a  blue-black.  Though  it  never  comes  very 
near  our  windows,  it  does  not  appear  to  be  shy,  and  it 
prefers  the  trees  of  our  gardens  and  enclosures  to  those 
of  the  forest.  When  the  breeding  season  is  over,  the  old 
birds  probably  retire  to  the  woods ;  for,  after  the  young 
have  taken  flight,  they  are  seldom  seen. 


BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD.  9 


■  > 


I  think  Mr.  Nuttall  is  incorrect  in  his  description  of 
the  Indigo-Bird's  song.  It  certainly  has  not  that  variety 
and  pathos  which  he  ascribes  to  it.  The  song  is  rather 
a  lively  see-saw  without  expressing  even  animation.  It 
ought  not  to  be  considered  plaintive.  His  notes  are 
sharp,  not  unlike  those  parts  of  the  Canary's  song  which 
are  disagreeable.  I  allude  to  the  sip,  sip,  sip,  sip,  which 
the  Canary  intersperses  with  his  more  musical  and  roll- 
ing notes.  The  whole  song  of  the  Indigo-Bird  is  but 
a  repetition  of  the  sip,  sip,  of  the  Canary,  modified  by  the 
addition  of  another  note,  like  sip-see,  sip-see,  sip-see,  sip- 
see,  repeated  four  or  five  times  very  moderately,  with  a 
few  unimportant  intervening  notes.  Neither  has  the  song 
of  the  Indigo-Bird  so  much  rapidity  as  Nuttall  ascribes  to 
it.  His  notes,  though  not  slow,  are  but  little  more  rapid 
than  those  of  the  Eobin.  He  has  the  merit,  however,  of 
being  one  of  the  few  of  our  birds  that  sing  persistently  at 
noonday. 

THE   SUMMER  YELLOW-BIRD. 

There  is  no  common  feature  in  our  New  England 
domestic  landscape  more  remarkable  than  the  frequent 
rows  of  willows  which  have  at  different  times  been 
planted  by  the  sides  of  roads  where  they  pass  over  wet 
meadows.  The  air  is  never  sweeter,  not  even  in  a  grove 
of  lindens,  than  the  vernal  breezes  that  are  constantly 
playing  among  the  willows,  when  they  are  hung  with 
golden  aments,  and  swarming  with  bees  and  butterflies. 
Here,  flitting  among  the  soft  foliage  of  these  trees  after 
the  middle  of  May,  you  will  never  fail  to  meet  the  little 
Summer  Yellow-Bird,  whose  plumage  is  so  near  the  color 
of  the  willow-blossoms  that  they  almost  conceal  it  from 
observation. 

The  Summer  Yellow-Bird  is  one  of  that  incomparable 
tribe  of  warblers,  comprehended  under  the  general  name 


94  BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN   AND   ORCHARD. 

of  sylvians,  that  frequents  familiar  places.  His  plumage 
is  not  a  bright  yellow,  but  faintly  streaked  with  olive  on 
the  back  and  wings.  He  feeds  entirely  on  insects,  and  is 
frequently  seen  in  gardens  among  the  cherry-trees  and 
currant-bushes  in  search  of  them.  The  birds  of  this 
species  are  not  shy ;  and  I  have  observed  the  same  con- 
fiding docility  in  other  small  birds  which  are  not  perse- 
cuted. The  note  of  the  male  is  remarkable  only  for  its 
sweetness.  It  is  too  brief  and  shrill  to  attract  attention, 
except  by  giving  notice  of  the  cheerful  presence  of  the 
bird.  He  is  so  familiar  as  frequently  to  come  up  close 
to  our  windows  when  a  tree  is  near,  peeping  in  upon  us 
as  if  to  watch  our  motions. 

There  is  nothing  in  his  general  habits  to  render  him 
conspicuous ;  and  little  is  said  about  him,  because  he 
is  quiet  and  unobtrusive.  But  were  his  whole  species 
banished  from  our  land,  he  would  be  missed  as  we  should 
miss  the  little  cinqfoil  from  our  green  hillsides,  which  it 
sprinkles  with  its  modest  and  familiar  flowers,  though  it 
attracts  no  admiration.  The  Summer  Yellow-Bird,  like 
this  little  flower,  dwells  sweetly  among  the  willows  and 
cherry-trees,  seen  by  all,  and  loved  for  its  unpretending 
beauty,  its  cheerful  note,  and  its  innocent  habits. 

Dr.  Brewer  mentions  the  Summer  Yellow-Bird  as  one 
of  the  few  species  that  refuses  to  hatch  the  egg  of  the 
Cowbird.  If  this  bird  should  drop  one  of  its  eggs  into 
her  nest,  she  builds  up  the  walls  and  then  covers  the  spu- 
rious egg  with  a  thick  coating  of  fresh  materials.  He 
mentions  one  remarkable  case  that  happened  in  his  own 
garden.  The  Yellow-Bird  had  already  built  a  new  nest 
over  One  Cowbird's  egg.  Another  was  deposited  in  the  new 
nest,  and  she  built  over  that.  She  had  finally  made  a 
nest  with  three  stories,  the  last  one  containing  only  the 
Yellow-Bird's  eggs.  This  fact  and  others  of  a  similar 
kind,  related  by  ornithologists,  indicate  an  unusual  share 


BIRDS   OF   THE   GARDEN  AND   ORCHARD.  95 

of  intelligence  in  this  species.  Dr.  Brewer  also  mentions 
an  anecdote  related  to  him  by  a  friend.  A  pair  of  Yellow- 
Birds  had  built  their  nest  in  a  low  bush,  and  filled  it 
with  eggs,  when  a  storm  partly  overturned  it.  They 
abandoned  it  and  built  another  in  the  same  bush,  and  the 
female  laid  her  eggs  and  sat  upon  them.  ,  "  The  narrator 
then  restored  the  first  nest  to  an  upright  position  and 
securely  fastened  it."  The  male  bird  immediately  sat 
upon  the  eggs  in  this  nest,  while  the  female  sat  upon  the 
other.  In  this  way  each  one  hatched,  fed,  and  reared  its 
separate  family. 


THE  FIELD   AND   THE   GABDEK 

It  must  have  been  observed  by  every  careful  student 
of  nature  that  our  walks  in  the  field  and  in  the  garden 
are  not  attended  by  the  same  sensations.  Indeed,  they 
always  remind  me  of  prose  and  verse,  the  one  marked  by 
uniformity,  the  other  by  variety.  The  words  and  images 
of  prose  are  more  ample  and  free,  those  of  verse  more 
select  and  condensed.  We  look  for  assorted  profusion  in 
the  garden,  for  scattered  multiplicity  in  the  field.  We 
can  sustain  our  interest  a  longer  time  when  rambling  over 
the  fields  of  prose  ;  but  the  luxury  of  a  few  moments  is 
greater  when  traversing  the  garden- walks  of  a  short  poem. 
We  see  more  beauty,  more  splendor,  more  that  gratifies 
the  sense,  in  the  garden ;  we  discover  more  of  the  pictu- 
resque, more  sublimity,  more  that  excites  the  imagination, 
in  the  field.  But  the  dreary  monotony  and  artificial 
grandeur  of  a  widely  extended  landscape  garden  must  be 
as  tiresome  as  a  long  poem;  its  serpentine  paths,  rus- 
tic devices,  and  shallow  imitations  of  nature's  wildness 
failing  in  their  intentions,  as  the  affected  ruggedness  and 
hobbling  of  the  verse  and  the  frequent  episodes  of  a  long 
poem  are  but  a  mockery  of  the  freedom  of  prose. 

People  who  have  been  confined  a  great  part  of  their 
life  to  the  town  know  very  little  of  flowers,  except  as 
the  ornaments  of  a  garden,  and  have  admired  them 
chiefly  as  objects  of  art.  Florists'  flowers  are  generally 
deprived  of  some  of  their  specific  characters :  stamens  are 
transformed  into  petals,  as  in  roses  ;  wheel-shaped  flowers 
in  the  margin  take  the  place  of  bell-shaped  flowers  in  the 


THE   FIELD   AND    THE    GARDEN.  07 

centre,  as  in  the  snowball;  or  the  florets  of  the  disk  are 
furnished  with  petals,  as  in  the  dahlia,  and  become  in 
each  case  a  "  double  flower."  By  this  transformation  they 
are  rendered  more  valuable  for  bouquets  and  floral  exhi- 
bitions, and  are  more  admirable  as  ornaments  of  the  par- 
terre. They  have  become  more  marketable,  but  less  poet- 
ical ;  they  are  more  the  delight  of  the  flower-girl,  but 
they  are  prized  in  a  less  degree  by  the  botanist  and  the 
poet,  who  prefer  the  objects  of  nature  unsophisticated 
by  art. 

The  field-flowers  are  praised  by  the  poet  Campbell, 
because  ,  they  waft  him  to  bygone  summers,  to  birchen 
glades  and  Highland  mountains,  to  the  shores  of  lakes 
and  their  little  islands ;  because  they  are  associated  with 
the  notes  of  birds  and  the  voices  of  streams.  While  ad- 
mitting that  they  are  eclipsed  by  the  flowers  of  the  garden, 
he  gives  these  wildings  of  nature  his  preference,  because 
they  are  allied  with  more  pleasant  memories  and  affec- 
tions. He  would  cherish  them  that  they  may  enliven  his 
declining  years  with  the  sensations  of  youth,  and  hopes 
they  may  grow  upon  his  tomb.  The  simple  flowers  of  the 
garden,  however,  which  have  not  been  greatly  modified 
by  culture  and  retain  their  original  characters,  claim  no 
less  attention  than  we  bestow  upon  the  flowers  of  the 
field.  The  most  ancient  and  common  of  these  have 
acquired  the  greatest  share  of  our  affection,  because  they 
were  our  earliest  friends.  Such  are  the  primrose,  the 
pansy,  the  narcissus,  the  tulip,  the  lily  of  the  valley,  — 
perfectly  primitive  in  its  character,  —  and  above  all,  the 
white  lily  and  the  rose.  We  have  become  acquaint  ed 
with  these  flowers,  not  only  from  our  early  intercourse 
with  them  in  the  garden,  but  from  the  frequent  allusions 
to  them  in  the  poetry  of  all  ages,  and  in  Holy  Writ,  But 
they  are  not  the  favorites  of  florists.  Fashion,  who  always 
impudently  interferes  with  our  tastes  and  our  ] Measures, 

5  G 


98  THE   FIELD   AND    THE    GARDEN. 

has  not  failed  to  intermeddle  with  the  flower-garden,  and 
has  often  stamped  a  false  value  upon  certain  flowers  of 
inferior  beauty  compared  with  others  of  a  more  simple 
habit  and  deportment.  We  who  have  not  been  compelled 
to  wear  the  yoke  of  this  tyranny  will  continue  to  admire 
those  which  have  been  sanctified  to  our  imagination  by 
the  poets  of  nature. 

Many  of  our  common  garden-flowers  are  closely  inter- 
woven with  the  fabric  of  English  literature ;  and  the  fre- 
quent mention  of  them  by  the  early  poets,  who  treated 
them  more  in  detail  than  their  successors,  has  invested 
them  with  charms  which  are  derived  from  their  descrip- 
tions and  the  imagery  that  accompanies  them.  Others 
are  commended  to  us  by  the  memories  of  childhood,  and 
by  their  frequency  in  the  gardens  of  rustic  cottages  in  the 
country.  Such  are  the  marigold,  the  larkspur,  the  morn- 
ing-glory, the  iris,  the  crocus,  and  the  snowdrop.  How 
vividly  are  the  early  scenes  and  events  of  our  life  called 
up  by  these  simple  flowers,  and  how  greatly  do  they  con- 
tribute to  the  cheerfulness  and  sacredness  of  the  grounds 
they  occupy !  Coining  generations  will  be  affected  with 
less  emotion  by  these  particular  flowers,  because  their 
childhood  will  make  friendships  with  others  that  have 
taken  their  places.  But  I  am  persuaded  that  the  intro- 
duction of  such  multitudinous  species  in  our  gardens  is 
fatal  to  the  poetic  interest  that  might  be  felt  in  a  smaller 
■number.  A  few  flowers  take  a  stronger  hold  of  our  affec- 
tions and  our  imaginations  than  a  multitude.  Thus  peo- 
ple* who  live  in  retirement,  with  a  small  circle  of  friends, 
are  more  devoutly  attached  to  them  than  others  who  have 
very  many,  whom  they  constantly  meet  in  the  social  in- 
tercourse of  fashion. 

I  will  confess  that  I  am  not  an  admirer  of  floral  exhi- 
bitions. I  am  offended  when  I  see  flowers  degraded  to 
a  level  with  ribbons,  laces,  and  jewelry,  and  prized  accord- 


THE   FIELD    AND    THE   GARDEN.  99 

ing  to  some  property  that  is  appreciable  only  by  a  con- 
noisseur. I  am  aware  that  such  exhibitions  are  attended 
with  certain  public  advantages,  and  contribute  an  inno- 
cent amusement  to  the  inhabitants  of  towns  and  cities. 
But  I  should  be  more  interested  in  looking  over  the  dried 
specimens  of  some  rustic  botanist  in  the  country  than  in 
viewing  the  most  splendid  assortment  of  show-flowers ; 
and  feel  more  respect  for  the  zeal  of  a  true  lover  of  na- 
ture, who  traverses  the  continent  in  quest  of  an  unknown 
species,  than  for  the  ambition  of  a  florist,  who  experi- 
ments half  his  lifetime  to  add  one  new  tint  to  a  dahlia. 

I  was  invited  some  time  since  by  an  old  lady  of  my 
acquaintance  to  visit  her  garden  and  see  her  flowers,  of 
which  she  had  gathered  together  a  miscellaneous  assem- 
blage that  reminded  me  of  those  we  sometimes  meet  in  a 
little  opening  in  the  woods.  She  was  one  who  valued 
plants  as  the  works  of  nature,  not  as  the  toys  of  ambi- 
tion, and  who  held  them  all  sacred  as  gifts  of  Providence. 
Every  species  was  highly  prized  by  her,  and  she  had  col- 
lected all  such  as  her  means  enabled  her  to  obtain,  and 
planted  them  in  her  garden.  This  little  enclosure  I  found 
to  be  stored  with  many  plants  which  have  been  naturalized 
on  our  soil,  and  from  time  immemorial  have  been  known 
and  loved  by  the  inhabitants  both  of  England  and  Amer- 
ica. Many  of  these  were  common  in  our  gardens  thirty 
years  ago.  Among  them  were  several  cordial  and  medi- 
cinal herbs,  such  as  wormwood,  balm,  horehound,  south- 
ernwood, basil,  and  thyme,  growing  side  by  side  with 
pinks,  jasmines,  and  primulus.  She  expatiated  on  the 
uses  of  these  and  the  beauties  of  those;  but  the  principal 
objects  of  her  admiration  were  some  noble  sunflowers, 
that  maintained  a  sort  of  kingly  presence  among  the  in- 
habitants of  her  garden. 

Not  being  affected  by  any  prejudice  against  sunflowers, 
I  sympathized  with   her   admiration,  and  praised   them 


100  THE   FIELD   AND   THE   GARDEN. 

heartily  without  saying  a  word  more  than  I  felt.  They 
were  dotted  about  her  grounds  with  great  irregularity,  not 
because  the  old  lady  had  any  of  the  prevailing  affectation 
for  what  is  termed  picturesque  arrangement,  but  wherever 
a  seed  had  come  up,  there  she  allowed  it  to  grow  without 
molestation.  There  was  an  air  of  rustic  cheerfulness  about 
these  sunflowers  that  captivated  my  sight,  and  made  me 
at  the  time  a  true  convert  to  the  views  of  my  entertainer. 
This  celebrated  flower,  which  was  dedicated  to  the  sun, 
because  it  was  made  in  the  image  of  that  deity,  —  the 
flower  which  was  produced  by  the  transformation  of 
Clytie,  and,  still  retaining  her  passion,  is  supposed  to 
turn  itself  constantly  toward  his  beams, — had  found  a  mod- 
ern admirer  in  my  hostess.  Though  its  colors  are  neither 
various  nor  beautiful,  there  is  a  halo  of  divinity  in  the 
border  of  petals  surrounding  the  disk  of  the  flower,  and 
a  look  that  reminds  me  of  those  charitable  and  honest 
people  who  live  to  do  good.  We  shall  perceive  this  anal- 
ogy when  we  consider  that  the  sunflower  possesses  many 
economical  properties,  and  that,  after  the  beauty  of  its 
prime  is  faded,  it  scatters  abroad  its  seeds,  and  supplies  a 
repast  for  many  famishing  birds.  The  good  dame  appre- 
ciated these  frugal  habits  in  her  sunflowers,  and  fed  her 
poultry  in  the  autumn  with  their  seeds. 

While  commenting  on  the  beauties  of  the  various  occu- 
pants of  her  garden,  she  made  an  apology  for  the  weeds 
which  had  overgrown  and  concealed  many  of  her  favorite 
flowers  ;  her  duties  as  a  housekeeper  had  not  left  her  time 
enough  to  be  a  good  supervisor  of  her  plants.  I  remarked 
that  weeds  are  an  important  addition  to  a  flower-garden ; 
that  they  cause  it  to  resemble  the  wilds  of  Nature,  who 
is  not  careful  to  destroy  weeds,  but  seems  as  desirous  to 
protect  them  as  the  most  beautiful  lilies  or  daisies.  It  is 
pleasant  when  strolling  in  a  garden  to  feel  as  if  we  were 
making  discoveries,  by  gaining  perhaps  the  first  sight  of  a 


THE   FIELD  AND   THE   GARDEN.  101 

little  blossom  half  hidden  by  some  overtopping  weed 
She  did  not  quite  comprehend  my  philosophy,  and  thought 
it  preferable  that  the  beauties  of  the  garden  should  be  the 
most  conspicuous  objects.  I  replied  that  many  of  her 
weeds  were  as  beautiful  as  her  flowers ;  that  the  Roman 
wormwood,  for  example,  generally  despised,  was  nothing 
less  than  the  Ambrosia,  which  was  served  with  nectar  at 
the  feasts  of  the  gods ;  it  is  like  a  tree  in  its  manner  of 
branching,  and  bears  a  leaf  like  that  of  a  fern,  —  the 
proudest  of  all  plants  in  the  structure  of  its  foliage. 

On  our  way  through  the  garden-path  a  large  burdock 
in  an  angle  of  the  fence  obtruded  itself  upon  our  sight, 
covered  with  a  splendid  array  of  jDiirple  globular  flowers. 
The  burdock,  she  said,  was  allowed  to  occupy  this  obscure 
nook  for  the  benefit  of  its  seeds,  which,  if  made  into  a  tea, 
are  a  valuable  remedy  for  weak  nerves ;  and  she  often 
steeped  its  roots  with  certain  aromatic  herbs,  to  add  a  tonic 
bitter  to  her  "  diet  drink."  .  I  added  that  it  was  once  highly 
prized  as  a  medicinal  herb,  and  that,  setting  aside  the 
beauty  of  its  flowers,  I  should  cherish  this  particular  one 
for  the  protection  it  afforded  to  a  little  creeping  plant 
then  luxuriating  in  its  shade.  This  little  creeper  was 
the  gill ;  a  very  pretty  labiate,  displaying  its  blue  and 
purple  flowers  in  whorls,  and  the  stem  with  anthers  that 
meet  and  form  a  cross,  and  adorned  with  heart-shaped 
leaves  very  neatly  corrugated.  This  plant  had  gained 
my  admiration  very  early  in  life,  among  the  weeds  in 
my  own  garden,  and  on  account  of  its  delicate  beauty  I 
could  not  treat  it  as  an  outcast. 

Anions  other  curiosities  of  her  garden,  included  in  the 
denomination  of  weeds,  was  a  delicate  euphorbia,  a  flat 
spreading  plant,  lying  so  close  upon  the  ground  that  it  could 
hardly  be  touched  by  the  foot  that  was  placed  upon  it 
It  grew  in  the  garden  walk,  forming  circular  patches,  and 
covered  with  minute  round  leaves,  having  a  purple  spot 


102  THE    FIELD   AND    THE    GARDEN. 

in  their  centre,  and  bearing  in  their  axils  a  little  white 
flower.  This  plant  had  not  attracted  her  attention,  and 
she  seemed  pleased  at  having  made  so  rare  a  discovery 
among  her  weeds.  On  the  other  hand,  she  had  not  failed 
to  observe  a  beautiful  sandwort,  one  of  the  most  delicate 
of  nature's  productions,  with  a  profusion  of  small  pink 
flowers  upon  stalks  and  leaves  as  fine  as  moss.  This  had 
planted  itself  on  a  rude  terrace  near  the  walls  of  her 
cottage,  where  the  sandy  soil  would  not  permit  the  growth 
of  more  luxuriant  plants  that  would  overshadow  and  de- 
stroy it.  She  seemed  to  admire  this  little  weed  as  much  as 
her  sunflowers,  and  had  taken  notice  of  the  fine  hues  of 
its  corolla,  its  branching  stems,  and  its  leaves  terminating 
in  fine  bristles.  Before  we  separated  I  remarked  that  her 
weeds  required  no  apology,  for  after  all  they  were  not  so 
numerous  as  to  hold  any  more  than  their  rightful  share 
of  the  soil.  I  confessed  that  in  the  neglected  parts  of  her 
garden  I  had  obtained  as  much  satisfaction  as  if  it  were 
a  proud  parterre  ;  that' there  might  be  an  excess  of  beauty 
and  elegance  in  a  garden  as  well  as  in  a  dwelling-house. 
My  visit  had  been  an  exceedingly  pleasant  one  to  me ; 
and  I  cared  no  more  to  see  a  garden  where  every  thing- 
is  kept  in  as  nice  a  trim  as  the  bald  pate  of  a  China- 
man, than  to  look  at  the  pictures  in  a  barber's  shop. 

I  soon  afterwards  entered  the  grounds  of  an  amateur 
florist,  who  showed  me  a  fine  array  of  the  most  recently 
imported  florists'  flowers.  He  discoursed  eloquently  on 
the  superiority  of  certain  improved  dahlias,  compared 
with  other  similar  varieties  that  might  seem  identical  to 
one  who  is  not  a  connoisseur.  He  was  particularly 
pleased  with  some  beds  of  hollyhocks  that  displayed  a 
great  variety  of  colors  and  shades,  which  lie  had  combined 
so  as  to  produce  a  beautiful  harmonic  effect  that  reminded 
me  of  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  I  could  not  help  saying 
that  I  admired  the  splendor  of  this  exhibition,  and  the 


THE   FIELD  AND   THE   GARDEN.  103 

ingenuity  required  for  its  arrangement ;  but  I  did  not 
praise  it  sufficiently  to  gratify  his  ambition,  and  lie  ex- 
pressed liis  surprise  at  my  want  of  enthusiasm.  1  soon 
perceived  that  he  was,  in  the  most  approved  sense,  a  man 
of  taste  and  of  "  aesthetic  culture " ;  that  he  had  a  keen 
eye  for  any  improvement  in  a  flower  as  manifested  in  a 
new  combination  of  hues  or  rare  development  of  form, 
and  great  skill  in  the  arrangement  of  his  borders.  More 
than  all,  he  was  so  much  of  a  scientific  botanist  that  I 
was  instructed  by  his  discourse  no  less  than  I  had  been 
delighted  by  my  interview  with  his  humble  neighbor. 

He  alluded  to  my  visit  in  the  old  lady's  garden,  and 
spoke  in  a  comical  humor  of  her  sunflowers  and  her  admi- 
ration of  them.  I  replied  that  whole  nations  had  wor- 
shipped the  sun;  and  why  should  not  our  pious  Mend 
worship  the  sunflower,  which  is  typical  of  that  luminary  ? 
This  religion  of  hers  was  a  proof  of  her  admiration  of 
greatness,  in  which  she  resembled  the  rest  of  the  world. 
The  public  has  never  ceased  to  admire  big  trees  and  mam- 
moth squashes ;  and  a  great  sunflower  seems  to  me  as 
worthy  of  our  idolatry  as  a  great  water-lily.  I  confessed 
that  I  could  join  heartily  in  the  respect  she  paid  even  to 
her.  burdocks,  that  bear  a  profusion  of  flowers,  consisting 
of  little  globular  beads  of  the  most  exquisite  finish,  with 
tufts  of  rose-colored  fringe,  each  one  a  gem  fit  to  adorn 
the  bosom  of  a  sylph.  These  plants  are  also  of  a  giant 
size,  with  a  leaf  as  large  as  that  of  a  fan-palm.  I  added 
that  I  felt  a  homely  regard  for  flowers,  not  in  proportion 
as  they  were  "far-fetched  and  dear-bought,"  but  as  they 
are  adapted  to  certain  important  ends  connected  with  our 
happiness,  independent  of  our  ambition.  I  left  him  in  a 
state  of  surprise  at  my  avowal  of  so  many  heresies  which 
he  thought  disproved  my  sincerity.  But  I  am  not  able 
to  perceive  the  superiority  of  his  taste  compared  with 
that  of  my  female  friend.    I  cannot  understand  why  mere 


104  THE  FIELD   AND   THE   GARDEN. 

splendor  is  a  thing  to  be  admired,  or  simplicity  a  thing  to 
be  ridiculed.  A  true  painter  sees  more  to  delight  him  in 
a  laborer's  cottage  guarded  by  an  old  apple-tree,  than  in 
a  palace  surrounded  by  works  of  sculpture  and  shaded  by 
cedars  of  Lebanon. 

There  is  an  inclination  among  men  to  carry  their  social 
prejudices  into  their  observations  of  nature,  to  make  price 
a  criterion  of  beauty  as  well  as  of  value,  and  to  qualify 
their  admiration  of  both  scenes  and  flowers  by  their  ideas 
of  the  expense  which  has  been  laid  out  upon  them.  This  is 
the  way  to  annihilate  everything  sacred  and  poetical  in 
the  character  of  flowers  and  landscape,  and  to  degrade 
nature  below  art,  or,  rather,  I  should  say,  below  fashion. 
The  simple-hearted  woman  who  cherishes  with  fondness 
a  lilac-tree  that  bore  flowers  for  her  when  she  was  a  girl, 
manifests  a  sentiment  that  is  entitled  to  respect,  and  her 
affection  for  it  is  a  genuine  theme  for  poetry.  He  who 
despises  her  attachment  because  her  lilac-tree  is  out  of 
date  as  a  thing  of  fashion,  and  has  lost  its  value  in  the 
flower-market,  is  himself  the  proper  subject  of  satire.  Let 
us  save  these  fair  objects  of  the  field  and  the  garden  from 
being  appraised  like  millinery  goods  ! 


MAY. 

The  spring  in  New  England  does  not,  like  the  same 
season  in  high  northern  latitudes,  awake  suddenly  into 
verdure  out  of  the  bosom  of  the  snows.  It  lingers  alomr 
for  more  than  two  months  from  its  commencement,  like 
that  long  twilight  of  purple  and  crimson  that  leads  up 
the  mornings  in  summer.  It  is  a  pleasant,  though  some- 
times weary  prolongation  of  the  season  of  hopes  and 
promises,  frequently  interrupted  by  short  periods  of  win- 
try gloom.  The  constant  lingering  delay  of  nature  in 
the  opening  of  the  flowers  and  the  leafing  of  the  trees 
affords  us  something  like  an  extension  of  the  dayspring  of 
life  and  its  joyful  anticipations.  As  we  ramble  through 
rustic  paths  and  narrow  lanes  and  over  meadows  still 
dank  and  sere,  the  very  tardiness  with  which  the  little 
starry  blossoms  peep  out  of  its  darkness,  and  with  which 
the  wreath  of  verdure  is  slowly  drawn  over  the  plains, 
gives  us  opportunity  to  watch  them  and  become  ac- 
quainted with  their  beauty,  before  they  are  lost  in  the 
crowd  that  will  soon  appear. 

Our  ideas  of  May,  being  derived,  in  part,  from  the 
descriptions  of  English  poets  and  rural  authors,  abound 
in  many  pleasant  fallacies.  There  are  no  seas  of  waving 
grass  and  bending  grain  in  the  May  of  New  England. 
Nature  is  not  yet  clothed  in  the  fulness  of  her  beauty; 
but  in  many  respects  she  is  lovelier  than  she  will  ever  be 
in  the  future.  Her  very  imperfections  are  charming,  in- 
asmuch as  they  are  the  budding  of  perfection,  mid  afford 
us  the  agreeable  sentiment  of  beauty  joined  with  that  of 


106  MAY. 

progression.  It  is  tins  thought  that  renders  a  young  ffirl 
more  lovely  and  interesting  with  her  unfinished  graces 
than  when  she  has  attained  the  completion  of  her  charms. 
The  bud,  if  not  more  beautiful,  is  more  poetical  than  the 
flower,  as  hope  is  more  delightful  than  fruition. 

The  ever-changing  aspects  of  the  woods  are  sources  of 
continual  pleasure  to  the  observer  of  nature,  and  have  in 
all  ages  afforded  themes  for  the  poet  and  subjects  for  the 
painter.  Of  all  these  phases  the  one  that  is  presented  to 
the  eye  in  May  is  by  far  the  most  delightful,  on  account 
of  the  infinite  variety  of  tints  and  shades  in  the  budding 
and  expanding  leaves  and  blossoms,  and  the  poetic  rela- 
tions of  their  appearance  at  this  time  to  the  agreeable 
sentiment  of  progression.  The  unfolding  leaves  and 
ripening  hues  of  the  landscape  require  no  forced  effort  of 
ingenuity  to  make  apparent  their  analogy  to  the  period  of 
youth  and  season  of  anticipation ;  neither  are  the  fading 
tints  of  autumn  any  less  suggestive  of  life's  decline. 
There  are  not  many,  however,  who  would  not  prefer  the 
lightness  of  heart  that  is  produced  by  these  emblems  of 
progression,  and  these  signals  of  the  reviving  year,  to  the 
more  poetic  sentiment  of  melancholy  inspired  by  the 
scenes  of  autumn. 

It  is  pleasant  at  this  time  to  watch  the  progress  of 
vegetation,  from  the  earliest  greenness  of  the  meadow, 
and  the  first  sprouting  of  the  herbs,  unfolding  of  the 
leaves,  and  opening  of  the  buds,  until  every  herb,  tree, 
and  flower  has  expanded  and  brightened  into  the  full 
radiance  of  summer.  While  the  earth  displays  only  a  few 
occasional  stripes  of  verdure  along  the  borders  of  the  shal- 
low pools  and  rivulets,  and  on  the  hillsides,  where  they 
are  watered  by  oozing  fountains  just  beneath  the  surface, 
we  may  observe  the  beautiful  drapery  of  the  tasselled 
trees  and  shrubs,  varying  in  color  from  a  light  yellow  to 
a  dark  orange  or  brown,  and  robing  the  landscape  in  a 


MAY.  1U7 

flowery  splendor  that  forms  a  striking  contrast  with  the 
general  nakedness  of  the  plain.  As  the  hues  of  this  dra- 
pery fade  by  the  withering  of  the  catkins,  the  leaf-buds 
of  the  trees  gradually  cast  off  their  scaly  coverings,  in 
which  the  infant  bud  has  been  cradled  during  the  winter ; 
and  the  tender  fan-shaped  leaves,  in  plaited  folds  of  differ- 
ent hues,  come  forth  in  millions,  and  yield  to  the  forest  a 
golden  and  ruddy  splendor,  like  the  tints  of  the  clouds 
that  curtain  the  summer  horizon. 

There  is  an  indefinable  beauty  in  the  infinitely  varied 
hues  of  the  foliage  at  this  time,  yet  they  are  far  from 
being  the  most  attractive  spectacle  of  the  season.  While 
the  trees  are  unfolding  their  leaves,  the  earth  is  daily 
becoming  oreener  with  everv  nightfall  of  dew,  and  thou- 
sands  of  flowers  awake  into  life  with  every  morning  sun. 
At  first  a  few  violets  appear  on  the  hillsides,  increasing 
daily  in  numbers  and  brightness,  until  they  are  more  nu- 
merous than  the  stars  of  heaven  ;  then  a  single  dandelion, 
which  is  the  harbinger  of  millions  in  less  than  a  week. 
All  these  gradually  multiply  and  bring  along  in  their  r<  ar 
a  countless  troop  of  anemones,  saxifrages,  geraniums,  but- 
tercups, and  columbines,  until  the  landscape  is  draped 
with  the  universal  wreath  of  spring. 

May  opens  with  a  few  blossoms  of  the  coltsfoot,  the 
liverwort,  the  buckbean,  and  the  wood-anemone,  and  a 
multitude  of  blue  violets  of  a  humble  species,  such  as  we 
see  upon  the  grassy  mounds  in  our  old  country  grave- 
yards, are  scattered  over  the  southern  slopes  of  the  pas- 
tures. After  May-day,  every  morning  sun  is  greeted  1  y 
a  fresh  troop  of  these  little  fairy  visitants,  until  every 
nook  sparkles  with  them,  and  every  pathway  is  embroi- 
dered with  them.  At  an  early  period  the  given  pastures 
are  so  full  of  dandelions  and  buttercups  that  they  seem 
to  be  smiling  upon  us  from  every  knoll.  Children  are 
always  delighted  with  these  flowers,  and  our  eyes,  as  they 


108  MAY. 

wander  over  the  village  outskirts,  will  rest  upon  hundreds 
of  young  children,  on  a  sunny  afternoon,  who  have  left 
their  active  sports  to  gather  them  and  weave  them  into 
garlands,  or  use  them  as  talismans  with  which  they  have 
associated  many  interesting  conceits.  Soon  after  this 
the  fields  appear  in  the  fulness  of  their  glory.  Wild 
geraniums  in  the  borders  of  the  woods  and  copses,  white 
and  yellow  violets,  ginsengs,  bell  worts,  silver  weeds,  and 
cinquefoils  bring  up  the  rear  in  the  procession  of  May. 
During  all  this  time  the  flowers  of  the  houstonia,  which 
have  been  very  aptly  chosen  as  the  symbols  of  innocence, 
beginning  in  the  latter  part  of  April  with  a  few  scanty 
blossoms,  grow  every  day  more  and  more  abundant,  until 
their  myriads  resemble  a  thin  but  interminable  wreath 
of  snowflakes,  distributed  over  the  hills  and  pastures. 

If  we  now  look  upon  the  forest,  we  shall  observe  a 
manifest  connection  between  the  tints  of  the  half-devel- 
oped spring  foliage  and  those  observed  in  the  decline  of 
the  year.  The  leaves  of  nearly  all  the  trees  and  shrubs 
that  are  brightly  colored  in  autumn  present  a  similar 
variety  of  tints  in  their  plaited  foliage  in  May.  It  is 
these  different  tendencies  of  all  the  various  species  that 
afford  the  woods  their  principal  charm  during  this  month. 
It  seems,  indeed,  to  be  the  design  of  nature  to  foreshow, 
in  the  infancy  of  the  leaves,  some  of  those  habits  that 
mark  both  their  maturity  and  their  decline,  by  giving 
them  a  faint  shade  of  the  colors  that  distinguish  them  in 
the  autumn. 

Though  we  cannot  find  in  May  those  brilliant  colors 
anions  the  leaves  of  the  forest-trees  which  are  the  crown- 
ing  glory  of  autumn,  yet  the  present  month  is  more  abun- 
dant in  contrasts  than  any  other  period,  and  these  increase 
in  beauty  and  variety  until  about  the  first  of  June.  In 
early  May,  set  apart  from  the  general  nakedness  of  the 
woods,  may  be  seen  here  and  there  a  clump  or  a  row  of 


MAY.  109 

willows  full  of  bright  yellow  aments,  maples  with  buds, 
blossoms,  and  foliage  of  crimson,  and  interspersed  among 
them  junipers,  hemlocks,  and  other  evergreens,  that  stand 
out  from  their  assemblages  like  natives  of  another  clinic. 
As  the  month  advances,  while  these  contrasts  remain,  new- 
ones  are  daily  appearing  as  one  tree  after  another  conns 
into  flower,  each  exhibiting  a  tint  peculiar  not  only  to 
the  species,  but  often  to  the  individual  and  the  situation, 
until  hardly  two  trees  in  the  whole  wood  are  quite  alike 
in  color. 

As  the  foliage  ripens,  the  different  shades  of  green  be- 
come more  thoroughly  blended  into  a  single  uniform  tint. 
But  ere  the  process  is  completed  the  fruit-trees  open  their 
blossoms  and  bring  a  new  spectacle  of  contrasts  into  view. 
Peach-trees,  with  their  pale  crimson  flowers,  that  appear 
before  the  leaves,  and  stand  in  flaming  rows  along  the 
fences,  like  burning  bushes ;  pear-trees,  with  corols  per- 
fectly white,  internally  fringed  with  brown  anthers,  like 
long  dark  eyelashes,  that  give  them  almost  the  counte- 
nance of  life  ;  cherry-trees,  with  their  white  flowers  en- 
veloped in  tufts  of  foliage,  occupied  by  the  oriole  and  the 
linnet ;  and  apple-trees,  with  flowers  of  every  shade  be- 
tween a  bright  crimson  or  purple  and  a  pure  white,  —  all 
come  forth  one  after  another  to  welcome  the  birthday 
of  June. 

During  the  last  week  in  May,  were  you  to  stand  on  an 
eminence  that  commands  an  extensive  view  of  the  conn- 
try,  you  would  be  persuaded  that  the  prospect  is  far  more 
magnificent  than  at  midsummer.  At  this  time  you  look 
not  upon  individuals  but  upon  groups.  Before  you  lies 
an  ample  meadow,  nearly  destitute  of  trees  save  a  few 
elms  standing  in  equal  majesty  and  beauty,  combining  in 
their  forms  the  gracefulness  of  the  palm  with  the  grandeur 
of  the  oak;  here  and  there  a  clump  of  pines,  and  long 
rows  of  birches,  willows,  and  alders  bordering  the  streams 


110  MAY. 

that  glide  along  the  valley,  and  displaying  every  shade 
of  green  in  their  foliage.  In  all  parts  of  the  prospect, 
separated  by  square  fields  of  tillage  of  lighter  and  darker 
verdure,  according  to  the  nature  of  their  crops,  you  behold 
numerous  orchards,  —  some,  on  the  hillside,  receiving  the 
direct  beams  of  the  sun  ;  others,  on  level  ground,  exhibiting 
their  shady  rows  with  their  flowers  just  in  that  state  of 
advancement  that  serves  to  show  the  budding  trees,  which 
are  red  and  purple,  in  beautiful  opposition  to  the  full- 
blown trees,  which  are  white.  Such  spectacles  of  flower- 
ing orchards  are  seen  in  all  parts  of  the  country,  as  far  as 
the  e\7e  can  reach  along  the  thinly  inhabited  roadsides 
and  farms. 

The  air  at  this  time  is  scented  with  every  variety  of 
perfumes,  and  every  new  path  in  our  rambling  brings  us 
into  a  new  atmosphere  as  well  as  a  new  prospect.  It  is 
during  the  prevalence  of  a  still  south-wind  that  the  herbs 
and  flowers  exhale  their  most  agreeable  odors.  Plants 
generate  more  fragrance  in  a  warm  air ;  and  if  the  wind 
is  still  and  moist,  the  odors,  as  they  escape,  are  not  so 
widely  dissipated,  being  retained  near  the  ground  by  mix- 
ing with  the  dampness  of  the  atmosphere.  Hence  the 
time  when  the  breath  of  flowers  is  sweetest  is  during 
a  calm,  when  the  weather  is  rather  sultry,  and  while 
the  sunbeams  are  tinged  with  a  purple  and  ruddy  glow 
by  shining  through  an  almost  invisible  haze.  A  blind 
man  might  then  determine,  by  the  perfumes  of  the  air, 
as  he  was  led  over  the  country,  whether  he  was  in 
meadow  or  upland,  and  distinguish  the  character  of  the 
vegetation. 

Now  let  the  dweller  in  the  city  who,  though  abounding 
in  riches,  sighs  for  that  contentment  which  his  wealth 
has  not  procured,  come  forth  from  the  dust  and  confine- 
ment of  the.  town  and  pay  a  short  visit  to  Nature  in  the 
country.     Let  him  come  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  cle- 


MAY.  Ill 

clining  sun  casts  a  beautiful  sheen  upon  the  tender  leaves 
of  the  forest,  and  while  thousands  of  birds  are  chanting, 
in  full  chorus,  from  an  overflow  of  those  delightful  sensa- 
tions that  fill  the  hearts  of  all  creatures  who  worship 
Nature  in  her  own  temples  and  do  obedience  to  her  be- 
neficent laws.  I  would  lead  him  to  a  commanding  view 
of  this  lovely  prospect,  that  he  may  gaze  awhile  upon 
those  scenes  which  he  has  so  often  admired  on  the 
canvas  of  the  painter,  displayed  here  in  all  their  living 
beauty.  While  the  giles  are  wafting  to  his  senses  the 
fragrance  of  the  surrounding  groves  and  orchards,  and  the 
notes  of  the  birds  are  echoing  all  around  in  harmonious 
confusion,  I  would  point  out  to  him  the  neat  little  cot- 
tages which  are  dotted  about  like  palaces  of  content  in 
all  parts  of  the  landscape.  I  would  direct  his  attention 
to  the  happy  laborers  in  the  field,  and  the  neatly  dressed, 
smiling,  ruddy,  and  playful  children  in  their  green  and 
flowery  enclosures  and  before  the  open  doors  of  the  cot- 
tages. I  would  then  ask  him  if  he  is  still  ignorant  of  the 
cause  of  his  own  unhappiness,  or  of  the  abundant  sources 
of  enjoyment  which  Nature  freely  offers  for  the  participa- 
tion of  all  her  creatures. 

\ 


THE  ANTHEM   OF  MOEN. 

Nature,  for  the  delight  of  waking  eyes,  has   arrayed 
the  morning  heavens  in   the  loveliest  hues  of  beauty. 
Fearing  to  dazzle  by  an  excess  of  light,  she  first  an- 
nounces day  by  a  faint  and  glimmering  twilight,  then 
sheds  a  purple  tint  over  the  brows  of  the  rising  morn, 
and  infuses  a  transparent   ruddiness  throughout  the  at- 
mosphere.     As    daylight  widens,   successive   groups  of 
mottled  and  rosy-bosomed  clouds  assemble  on  the  gilded 
sphere,  and,   crowned  with  wreaths  of  fickle   rainbows, 
spread  a  mirrored  flush  over  hill,  grove,  and  lake,  and 
every  village  spire  is  burnished  with  their  splendor.     At 
length,  through  crimsoned  vapors,  we  behold  the  sun's 
broad  disk,  rising  with  a  countenance  so  serene  that  every 
eye  may  view  him  ere  he  arrays  himself  in  his  meridian 
brightness.     Not   many  people  who  live   in   towns   are 
aware  of  the  pleasure  attending  a  ramble  near  the  woods 
and  orchards  at  daybreak  in  the  early  part  of  summer. 
The  drowsiness  we  feel  on  rising  from  our  beds  is  grad- 
ually dispelled  by  the   clear  and  healthful  breezes   of 
early  day,  and  we  soon  experience  an  unusual  amount 
of   vigor    and   elasticity.      Nature   has    so   ordered   her 
bounties  and  her  blessings  as  to  cause  the  hour  which 
is  consecrated  to  health  to  be  attended  with  the  greatest 
number  of  charms  for  all  the  senses;    and  to  make  all 
hearts  enamored  of   the  morning,    she  has  environed  it 
with  everything,  in  heaven  and  on  earth,  that  is  delight- 
ful to  the  eye  or  to  the  ear,  or  capable  of  inspiring  some 
agreeable  sentiment. 


THE  ANTHEM   OF   MORN.  11 


.  i 


During  the  night  the  stillness  of  all  things  is  the  cir- 
cumstance that  most  powerfully  attracts  our  notice,  ren- 
dering us  peculiarly  sensitive  to  every  accidental  sound 
that  meets  the  ear.  In  the  morning,  at  this  time  of  year, 
on  the  contrary,  we  are  overwhelmed  by  the  vocal  and 
multitudinous  chorus  of  the  feathered  tribe.  If  yon 
would  hear  the  commencement  of  this  grand  anthem  of 
nature,  you  must  rise  at  the  very  first  appearance  of 
dawn,  before  the  twilight  has  formed  a  complete  semicir- 
cle above  the  eastern  porch  of  heaven.  The  first  note  that 
proceeds  from  the  little  warbling  host  is  the  shrill  chirp 
of  the  hair-bird,  —  occasionally  vocal  at  all  hours  on  a 
warm  summer  night.  This  strain,  which  is  a  continued 
trilling  sound,  is  repeated  with  diminishing  intervals, 
until  it  becomes  almost  incessant.  But  ere  the  hair-bird 
has  uttered  many  notes  a  single  robin  begins  to  warble 
from  a  neighboring  orchard,  soon  followed  by  others,  in- 
creasing in  numbers  until,  by  the  time  the  eastern  sky 
is  flushed  with  crimson,  every  male  robin  in  the  country 
round  is  simnnq-  with  fervor. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  note  the  exact  order  in  which 
the  different  birds  successively  begin  their  parts  in  this 
performance ;  but  the  bluebird,  whose  song  is  only  a 
short  mellow  warble,  is  heard  nearly  at  the  same  time 
with  the  robin,  and  the  song-sparrow  joins  them  soon  after 
with  his  brief  but  finely  modulated  strain.  The  different 
species  follow  rapidly,  one  after  another,  in  the  chorus, 
until  the  whole  welkin  rings  with  their  matin  hymn  of 
gladness.  I  have  often  wondered  that  the  almost  simul- 
taneous utterance  of  so  many  different  notes  should  pro- 
duce no  discords,  and  that  they  should  result  in  such 
complete  harmony.  In  this  multitudinous  confusion  of 
voices,  no  two  notes  are  confounded,  and  none  has  suf- 
ficient duration  to  grate  harshly  with  a  dissimilar  sound. 
Though  each  performer  sings  only  a  few  strains  and  then 


114  THE   ANTHEM   OF   MORN. 

makes  a  pause,  the  whole  multitude  succeed  one  another 
with  such  rapidity  that  we  hear  an  uninterrupted  flow 
of  music  until  the  broad  light  of  day  invites  them  to 
other  employments. 

When  there  is  just  light  enough  to  distinguish  the  birds, 
we  may  observe,  here  and  there,  a  single  swallow  perched 
on  the  roof  of  a  barn  or  shed,  repeating  two  twittering  notes 
incessantly,  with  a  quick  turn  and  a  hop  at  every  note 
he  utters.  It  would  seem  to  be  the  design  of  the  bird 
to  attract  the  attention  of  his  mate,  and  this  motion 
seems  to  be  made  to  assist  her  in  discovering  his  position. 
As  soon  as  the  light  has  tempted  him  to  fly  abroad, 
this  twittering  strain  is  uttered  more  like  a  continued 
song,  as  he  flits  rapidly  through  the  air.  But  at  this  later 
moment  the  purple  martins  have  commenced  their  more 
melodious  chattering,  so  loudlv  as  to  attract  for  a  while 
the  most  of  our  attention.  There  is  not  a  sound  in  nature 
so  cheering  and  animating  as  the  song  of  the  purple  mar- 
tin, and  none  so  well  calculated  to  drive  away  melancholy. 
Though  not  one  of  the  earliest  voices  to  be  heard,  the 
chorus  is  perceptibly  more  loud  and  effective  when  this 
bird  has  united  with  the  choir. 

"When  the  flush  of  morning  has  brightened  into  vermil- 
ion,  and  the  place  from  which  the  sun  is  soon  to  emerge 
has  attained  a  dazzling  brilliancy,  the  robins  are  already 
less  tuneful.  They  are  now  becoming  busy  in  collecting 
food  for  their  morning  repast,  and  one  by  one  they  leave 
the  trees,  and  may  be  seen  hopping  upon  the  tilled 
ground,  in  quest  of  the  worms  and  insects  that  have  crept 
out  during  the  night  from  their  subterranean  retreats. 
But  as  the  robins  otow  silent,  the  bobolinks  begin  their 
vocal  revelries ;  and  to  a  fanciful  mind  it  might  seem 
that  the  robins  had  gradually  resigned  their  part  in 
the  performance  to  the  bobolinks,  not  one  of  which  is 
heard   until   some  of  the  former   have  concluded  their 


THE  ANTHEM   OF   MORN.  115 

songs.  The  little  hair-bird  still  continues  his  almost 
incessant  chirping,  the  first  to  begin  and  the  last  to 
quit  the  performance.  Though  the  voice  of  this  bird  is 
not  very  sweetly  modulated,  it  blends  harmoniously  with 
the  notes  of  other  birds,  and  greatly  increases  the  charm- 
ing effect  of  the  combination. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  name  all  the  birds  that  take 
part  in  this  chorus ;  but  we  must  not  omit  the  pewee, 
with  his  melancholy  ditty,  occasionally  heard  like  a  short 
minor  strain  in  an  oratorio ;  nor  the  oriole,  who  is  really 
one  of  the  chief  performers,  and  who,  as  his  bright  plu- 
mage flashes  upon  the  sight,  warbles  forth  a  few  notes  so 
clear  and  mellow  as  to  be  heard  above  every  other  sound. 
Adding  a  pleasing  variety  to  all  this  harmony,  the  lisping 
notes  of  the  meadow-lark,  uttered  in  a  shrill  tone,  and 
with  a  peculiarly  pensive  modulation,  are  plainly  audible, 
with  short  rests  between  each  repetition. 

There  is  a  little  brown  sparrow,  resembling  the  hair- 
bird,  save  a  general  tint  of  russet  in  his  plumage,  that 
may  be  heard  distinctly  among  the  warbling  host.  He 
is  rarely  seen  in  cultivated  grounds,  but  frequents  the 
wild  pastures,  and  is  the  bird  that  warbles  so  sweetly 
at  midsummer,  when  the  whortleberries  are  ripe,  and  the 
fields  are  beautifully  spangled  with  red  lilies.  There  is 
no  confusion  in  the  notes  of  his  song,  which  consists  of 
one  syllable  rapidly  repeated,  but  increasing  in  rapidity 
and  rising  to  a  higher  key  towards  the  conclusion.  He 
sometimes  prolongs  his  strain,  when  his  notes  are  ob- 
served to  rise  and  fall  in  succession.  These  plaintive  and 
expressive  notes  are  very  loud  and  constantly  uttered, 
during  the  hour  that  precedes  the  rising  of  the  sun.  A 
dozen  warblers  of  this  species,  singing  in  concert,  and 
distributed  in  different  parts  of  the  field,  form,  perhaps, 
the  most  delightful  part  of  the  woodland  oratorio  to  which 
we  have  listened. 


116  THE  ANTHEM   OF  MORN. 

As  the  woods  are  the  residence  of  a  tribe  of  musicians 
that  differ  from  those  we  hear  in  the  open  fields  and 
orchards,  we  must  spend  a  morning  in  each  of  these  situ- 
ations, to  obtain  a  hearing  of  all  the  songsters  of  daybreak. 
For  this  reason  I  have  said  nothing  of  the  thrushes,  that 
sing  chiefly  in  the  woods  and  solitary  pastures,  and  are 
commonly  more  musical  in  the  early  evening  than  in  the 
morning.  I  have  confined  my  remarks  chiefly  to  those 
birds  that  frequent  the  orchards  and  gardens,  and  dwell 
familiarly  near  the  habitations  of  men. 

At  sunrise  hardly  a  robin  can  be  heard  in  the  whole 
neighborhood,  and  the  character  of  the  performance  has 
completely  changed  during  the  last  half-hour.  The  first 
part  was  more  melodious  and  tranquillizing,  the  last  is 
more  brilliant  and  animating.  The  grass-finches,  the 
vireos,  the  wrens,  and  the  linnets  have  joined  their  voices 
to  the  chorus,  and  the  bobolinks  are  loudest  in  their  song. 
But  the  notes  of  birds  in  general  are  not  so  incessant  as 
before  sunrise.  One  by  one  they  discontinue  their  lays,  un- 
til at  high  noon  the  bobolink  and  the  warbling  flycatcher 
are  almost  the  only  vocalists  to  be  heard  in  the  fields. 

Among  the  agreeable  accompaniments  of  a-  summer 
morning  walk  are  the  odors  from  the  woods,  the  herbage, 
and  the  flowers.  At  no  other  hour  of  the  day  is  the 
atmosphere  so  fragrant  with  their  emanations.  The  blos- 
soms of  almost  every  species  of  plant  are  just  unfolding 
their  petals,  after  the  sleep  of  night,  and  their  various 
offerings  of  incense  are  now  poured  out  at  the  ruddy  shrine 
of  morning.  The  objects  of  sight  and  sound  are  generally 
the  most  expressive  in  a  description  of  nature,  because 
seeing  and  hearing  are  the  intellectual  senses.  But  the 
perfumes  that  abound  in  different  situations  are  hardly 
less  suggestive  than  sights  and  sounds.  Let  a  person 
who  has  always  been  familiar  with  green  fields  and  bab- 
bling brooks,  and  who  has  suddenly  become  blind,  be  led 


THE   ANTHEM   OF   MORN.  117 

out  under  the  open  sky,  and  how  would  the  various  per- 
fumes from  vegetation  suggest  to  him  all  the  individual 
scenes  and  objects  that  have  been  imprinted  on  his 
memory ! 

There  is  a  peculiar  feeling  of  hope  and  cheerfulness 
that  attends  a  summer  morning  walk,  and  spreads  its 
happy  influence  over  all  the  rest  of  the  day.  The  pleas- 
ant stillness,  apart  from  the  stirring  population;  the 
amber  glow  of  heaven  that  beams  from  underneath 
successive  arches  of  crimson  and  vermilion,  constantly 
widening  and  brightening  into  the  full  glory  of  sunrise ; 
the  melodious  concert  of  warblers  from  every  bush  and 
tree,  constantly  changing  its  character  by  the  silence  of 
the  first  performers  and  the  joining  of  new  voices,  —  all 
conspire  to  render  the  brief  period  from  dawn  to  sunrise 
a  consecrated  hour,  and  to  sanctify  it  to  every  one's 
memory.  I  am  inclined  to  attribute  the  healthfulness 
of  early  rising  to  these  circumstances  rather  than  to  the 
doubtful  salubrity  of  the  dewy  atmosphere  of  morn. 
The  exercise  of  the  senses  while  watching  the  beautiful 
gradations  of  colors,  through  which  the  rising  luminary 
passes  ere  his  full  form  appears  in  sight,  is  attended  with 
emotions  like  those  which  might  be  supposed  to  attend 
us  at  the  actual  opening  of  the  gates  of  Paradise.  We 
return  home  after  this  ramble  w^armed  by  new  love  f<  >r 
the  beautiful  objects  of  nature,  and  with  all  our  feeling 
so  harmonized  by  the  sweet  influences  of  morn  as  to 
find  increased  delight  in  the  performance  of  our  duties 
and  the  exercise  of  our  affections. 


BIEDS   OF  THE  PASTUEE  AND   FOEEST. 

I. 

He  who  has  always  lived  in  the  city  or  its  suburbs, 
who  has  seldom  visited  the  interior  except  for  purposes 
of  trade,  and  whose  walks  have  not  often  extended  be- 
yond those  roads  which  are  bordered  on  each  side  by 
shops  and  dwelling-houses,  may  never  have  heard  some 
of  our  most  remarkable  songsters.  These  are  the  birds 
of  the  pasture  aud  forest,  those  shy,  melodious  warblers 
who  sing  only  in  the  ancient  haunts  of  the  Dryads. 
These  birds  have  not  multiplied  like  the  familiar  birds  in 
the  same  proportion  with  the  increase  of  human  popula- 
tion and  the  extension  of  agriculture.  Though  they  do  not 
shun  mankind,  they  keep  aloof  from  villages,  living  chiefly 
in  the  deep  wood  or  on  the  edge  of  the  forest  and  in  the 
bushy  pasture. 

There  is  a  peculiar  wildness  in  the  songs  of  this  class 
of  birds  that  awakens  a  delightful  mood  of  mind,  similar 
to  that  which  is  excited  by  reading  the  figurative  lyrics 
of  a  romantic  age.  This  feeling  is  undoubtedly,  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  the  effect  of  association.  Having  always  heard 
their  notes  in  wild  and  wooded  places,  they  never  fail  to 
bring  this  kind  of  scenery  vividly  before  the  imagination, 
and  their  voices  are  like  the  sounds  of  mountain  streams. 
It  is  certain  that  the  notes  of  the  solitary  birds  do  not 
affect  us  like  those  of  the  Eobin  and  the  Linnet ;  and 
their  influence  is  the  same,  whether  it  be  attributable 
to  some  intrinsic  quality  or  to  association,  which  is  in- 
deed the  source  of  some  of  the  most  delightful  emotions 
of  the  human  soul. 


in 

■ 

our  i     - 

of   i 
■ 

: 


■ 

'     ■ 

■ 

\      - 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE  AND   FOREST.  Ill) 

Nature  has  made  all  her  scenes  and  the  sights  and 
sounds  that  accompany  them  more  lovely  by  causing 
them  to  be  respectively  suggestive  of  a  peculiar  class  of 
sensations.  The  birds  of  the  pasture  and  forest  are  not 
frequent  enough  in  cultivated  places  to  be  associated  with 
our  homes  and  our  gardens.  Nature  has  confined  certain 
species  of  birds  and  animals  to  particular  localities,  and 
thereby  gives  a  poetic  or  picturesque  attraction  to  their 
features.  There  are  certain  flowers  that  cannot  be  culti- 
vated in  a  garden,  as, if  they  were  designed  for  the  exclu- 
sive adornment  of  those  secluded  arbors  which  the  spade 
and  the  plough  have  never  profaned.  Here  flowers  grow 
which  are  too  holy  for  culture,  and  birds  sing  whose 
voices  were  never  heard  in  the  cage  of  the  voluptuary, 
and  whose  tones  inspire  us  with  a  sense  of  freedom  known 
only  to  those  who  often  retire  from  the  world  to  live  in 
religious  communion  with  nature. 


THE   SWAMP- SPARROW. 

There  is  a  little  Sparrow  whose  notes  I  often  hear 
about  the  shores  of  unfrequented  ponds,  and  from  their 
untrodden  islets  covered  with  button-bush  and  sweet  gale, 
and  never  in  any  other  situations.  The  sound  of  his 
voice  always  enhances  the  sensation  of  rude  solitude  with 
which  I  look  upon  this  primitive  scenery.  We  often  see 
him  perched  upon  the  branch  of  a  dead  tree  that  stands 
in  the  water,  a  few  rods  from  the  shore,  apparently  watch- 
ing our  angling  operations  from  his  leafless  perch,  where 
he  sings  so  sweetly  that  the  very  desolation  of  the  scene 
borrows  a  charm  from  his  voice  that  renders  every  object 
delightful. 

This  little  solitary  warbler  is  the  Swamp-Sparrow. 
He  bears  some  resemblance  to  the  Song-Sparrow,  but  he  is 
without  that  bird's  charming  variety  of  modulation.     His 


120  BIRDS    OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST. 

notes  have  a  peculiar  liquid  tone,  and  sometimes  resemble 
the  rapid  dropping  of  water  by  the  single  drop  into  a 
wooden  cistern  which  is  half  full.  They  may  be  com- 
pared to  the  trilling  of  the  Hair-Bird,  a  kindred  species, 
less  rapidly  uttered,  and  upon  a  lower  key.  If  their 
notes  are  not  plaintive,  as  Nuttall  considered  them,  they 
produce  very  vividly  a  sensation  of  solitude,  that  tempts 
you  to  listen  long  and  patiently,  as  to  a  sweet  strain  in 
some  rude  ballad  music. 

THE   WOOD-SPARROW. 

When  the  flowers  of  early  summer  are  gone,  and  the 
graceful  neottia  is  seen  in  the  meadows,  extending  its  spi- 
ral clusters  among  the  nodding  grasses ;  when  the  purple 
orchis  is  glowing  in  the  wet  grounds,  and  the  roadsides 
are  gleaming  with  the  yellow  blossoms  of  the  Hypericum, 
the  merry  voice  of  the  Bobolink  has  ceased  and  many 
other  familiar  birds  have  become  silent.  At  this  time, 
if  we  stroll  away  from  the  farm  and  the  orchard  into  more 
retired  and  wooded  haunts,  we  may  hear  at  all  hours 
and  at  frequent  intervals  the  pensive  and  melodious 
notes  of  the  Wood-Sparrow,  who  sings  as  if  he  were  de- 
lighted at  being  left  almost  alone  to  warble  and  complain 
to  the  benevolent  deities  of  the  grove.  He  who  in  his 
youth  has  made  frequent  visits  to  these  pleasant  and  sol- 
itary places,  among  the  thousands  of  beautiful  and  sweet- 
scented  flowers  that  spring  up  among  the  various  spicy 
and  fruit-bearing  shrubs  that  unite  to  form  a  genuine 
whortleberry-pasture,  —  he  only  knows  the  unspeakable 
delights  which  are  awakened  by  the  sweet,  simple  notes 
of  this  little  warbler. 

The  Wood-Sparrow  is  somewhat  smaller  than  a  Canary, 
with  a  pale  chestnut-colored  crown,  above  of  a  brownish 
hue,  and  dusky-white  beneath.     Though  he  does  not  seem 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND    FOREST.  121 

to  be  a  shy  bird,  I  have  never  seen  him  in  our  gardens. 
The  inmates  of  solitary  cottages  alone  arc  privileged  to 
hear  his  notes  from  their  windows.  He  loves  the  plains 
and  the  hillsides  which,  are  half  covered  with  a  primitive 
growth  of  young  pines,  junipers,  cornels,  and  wh<  >rtlel  ierry- 
bushes,  and  lives  upon  the  seeds  of  grasses  and  wild  let- 
tuce, with  occasional  repasts  of  insects  and  fruits.  His 
notes  are  mellow  and  plaintive,  and,  though  often  pr<  >- 
longed  to  a  considerable  length,  seldom  consist  of  more 
than  one  strain.  He  begins  slowly  and  emphatically,  as 
if  repeating  the  syllable  de,  de,  de,  de,  any  number  of 
times,  increasing  in  rapidity,  and  at  the  same  time  sliding 
upward,  by  almost  imperceptible  gradations,  about  one  or 
two  tones  on  the  musical  scale. 

WOOD-SPARROW'S   SONG. 


«./  ... 


de  de  de  de  de  de  de  de  de  d     d     d    d    d    d     d    d    d    d  d  d- 

In  the  latter  part  of  June,  when  this  bird  is  most  mu- 
sical, he  occasionally  varies  his  song,  by  uttering  a  few 
chirps  after  the  first  strain,  like  the  Canary,  then  recom- 
mencing it,  and  repeating  it  thus  perhaps  three  or  four 
times.  I  once  heard  a  Canary  that  repeated  this  reit- 
erated song  of  the  "Wood-Sparrow,  and  it  seemed  to  me  to 
surpass  any  notes  I  had  ever  heard  before  from  this  sweet 
little  domesticated  songster. 


THE   GROUND-ROBIN   OR   CHEWINK. 

While  listening  to  the  notes  of  the  Wood-Sparrow,  we 
are  constantly  saluted  by  the  agreeable,  though  less  musi- 
cal, notes  of  the  Ground-Robin,  an  amusing  little  bird 
that  confines  himself  chiefly  to  the  edges  of  woods.  This 
bird  is  elegantly  spotted  with  white,  red,  and  black,  the 

6 


122  BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST. 

female  being  of  a  bright  bay  color  where  the  male  is  red. 
Every  rambler  knows  him,  not  only  by  his  plumage  and 
his  peculiar  note,  but  also  by  his  singular  habit  of  lurking 
among  the  bushes,  appearing  and  disappearing  like  a 
squirrel,  and  watching  all  our  movements.  It  is  with 
difficulty  that  a  gunner  can  obtain  a  good  aim  at  him,  so 
rapidly  does  he  change  his  position  among  the  leaves  and 
branches.  In  these  motions  he  resembles  the  Wren. 
When  he  perceives  that  we  are  observing  him  he  pauses 
in  his  song,  and  utters  that  peculiar  note  of  complaint 
from  which  he  has  derived  the  name  Chewink.  The 
sound  is  more  like  clicwce,  accenting  the  second  syllable. 

The  Chewink  is  a  very  constant  singer  during  four 
months  of  the  year,  from  the  first  of  May.  He  is  untir- 
ing in  his  lays,  seldom  resting  for  any  considerable  time 
from  morn  to  night,  being  never  weary  in  rain  or  in  sun- 
shine, or  at  noonday  in  the  hottest  weather  of  the  season. 
His  song  consists  of  two  long  notes,  the  first  about  a  third, 
above  the  second,  and  the  last  part  made  up  of  several 
rapidly  uttered  liquid  notes,  about  one  tone  below  the 
first  note. 

SONG   OF   THE   CHEWINK. 


There  is  an  expression  of  great  cheerfulness  in  these 
notes,  though  they  are  not^  delivered  with  much  enthusi- 
asm. But  music,  like  poetry,  must  be  somewhat  plaintive 
in  its  character  to  take  strong  hold  of  the  feelings.  I 
have  never  known  any  person  to  be  affected  by  these 
notes  as  many  are  by  those  of  the  Wood-Sparrow.  While 
employed  in  singing,  the  Chewink  is  usually  perched  on 
the  lower  branch  of  a  tree,  near  the  edge  of  a  wood,  or  on 
the  summit  of  a  tall  bush.     He  is  a  true  forest  bird,  and 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST.  123 

builds  his  nest  upon  the  ground  in  the  thickets  that  con- 
ceal the  boundaries  of  the  wood. 

The  note  of  the  Chewink  and  his  general  appearance 
and  habits  are  well  adapted  to  render  him  conspicuous, 
and  to  cause  him  to  be  known  and  remembered,  while  the 
"Wood-Sparrow  and  the  Veery  might  remain  unobserved. 
Our  birds  are  like  our  "men  of  genius."  As  in  the  lit- 
erary world  there  is  a  description  of  mental  qualities 
which,  though  of  a  high  order,  must  be  pointed  out  by  an 
observing  few  before  the  multitude  can  appreciate  them, 
so  the  sweetest  songsters  of  the  wood  are  unknown  to 
the  mass  of  the  community,  while  many  ordinary  per- 
formers, whose  talents  are  conspicuous,  are  universally 
known  and  admired. 


THE   REDSTART   AND    SPECKLED    CREEPER. 

As  we  advance  into  the  wood,  if  it  be  midday,  or  before 
the  decline  of  the  sun,  the  notes  of  two  small  birds  will  be 
sure  to  attract  our  attention.  The  notes  of  the  two  are  very 
similar  and  as  slender  and  fine  as  the  chirp  of  a  grass- 
hopper, being  distinguished  from  it  only  by  a  different 
and  more  pleasing  modulation.  These  birds  are  the  Red- 
start and  the  Speckled  Creeper.  The  first  is  the  more 
rarely  seen.  It  is  a  bird  of  the  deep  forest,  and  shuns 
observation  by  hiding  itself  in  some  of  the  obscure  parts 
of  the  wood.  Samuels,  however,  has  known  a  nest  of  the 
Redstart  to  be  built  and  the  young  reared  in  a  garden,  and 
other  authors  consider  the  bird  more  familiar  than  shy. 
In  general  markings,  that  is,  as  we  view  the  bird  without 
particular  examination,  the  Redstart  is  like  the  Chewink, 
though  not  more  than  half  its  size.  It  lives  entirely  on 
insects,  darting  out  upon  them  from  its  perch  like  a  fly- 
catcher, and  searching  the  foliage  for  them  like  a  sylvian. 
Its  son"'  is  similar  to  that  of  the  Summer  Yellow-Bird,  so 


124  BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE  AND   FOREST. 

common  in  our  gardens  among  the  fruit-trees,  but  more 
shrill  and  feeble.  The  Creeper's  note  does  not  differ 
from  it  more  than  the  notes  of  different  individuals  of 
the  same  species. 

The  Speckled  Creeper  takes  its  name  from  its  habit 
of  creeping  like  a  Woodpecker  round  the  branches  of 
trees,  feeding  upon  the  insects,  and  larvae  that  are  lodged 
in  the  crevices  of  the  bark.  It  often  leaves  the  wood 
and  diligently  manoeuvres  among  the  trees  in  our  gar- 
dens and  enclosures.  The  constant  activity  of  the  birds 
of  this  species  affords  proof  of  the  myriads  of  insects  that 
must  be  destroyed  by  them  in  the  course  of  one  season, 
and  which,  if  not  kept  in  check  by  these  and  other  small 
birds,  would,  by  their  multiplication,  render  the  earth 
uninhabitable  by  man. 


THE   OVEN-BIRD. 

While  listening  to  the  slender  notes  of  these  little  syl- 
vians,  hardly  audible  amidst  the  din  of  grasshoppers,  the 
rustling  of  leaves,  and  the  sighing  of  winds  among  the 
tall  oaken  boughs,  suddenly  the  space  resounds  with  a 
loud,  shrill  song,  like  the  sharpest  notes  of  the  Canary. 
The  little  warbler  that  startles  us  with  this  vociferous 
note  is  the  Golden-crowned  Thrush  or  Oven-Bird.  This 
bird  is  confined  almost  exclusively  to  the  woods,  and  is 
particularly  partial  to  noonday,  when  he  sings.  There  is 
no  melody  in  his  lay.  He  begins  rather  moderately,  in- 
creasing in  loudness  as  he  proceeds,  until  his  note  seems 
to  fill  the  whole  wood.  He  might  be  supposed  to  utter 
the  words  I  see,  I  see,  I  see,  I  see,  emphasizing  the  first 
word,  and  repeating  the  two  five  or  six  times,  growing 
louder  and  louder  with  each  repetition.  There  is  not  a 
bird  in  the  wood  that  equals  this  little  piper  in  the  energy 
with  which  he  delivers  his  brief  communication.     His 


BIRDS   OF    THE   PASTURE   AND    FOREST.  125 

notes  are  associated  with  summer  noondays  in  the  deep 
woods,  and  when  bursting  upon  the  car  in  the  silence  of 
noon,  they  disperse  all  melancholy  thoughts  as  if  by  en- 
chantment. 

Samuels  says  he  has  listened  to  the  song  of  this  bird 
at  all  hours  of  the  night,  in  the  mating  and  incubating 
season.  The  bird  seems  to  soar  into  the  air,  and  to  sin" 
while  hovering  in  a  slow  descent.  He  has  noticed  the 
same  habit  in  the  Maryland  Yellow-Throat  Dr.  Brewer 
says  the  Oven-Bird  "  has  two  very  distinct  songs,  each  in 
its  way  remarkable."  I  have  noticed  that  many  species 
of  birds  are  addicted  occasionally  to  a  kind  of  soliloquiz- 
ing; warbling  in  a  low  tone,  not  very  audibly  and  appar- 
ently for  their  own  amusement.  It  is  seldom  that  these 
soliloquizing  notes  bear  any  resemblance  to  the  usual 
song  of  the  bird  ;  and  I  have  heard  them  from  the  Chicka- 
dee and  other  birds  that  have  no  song. 

The  oven-shaped  nest  of  this  bird  has  always  been  an 
object  of  curiosity.  It  is  placed  upon  the  ground  under 
a  knoll  of  moss,  or  a  tuft  of  weeds  and  bushes,  and  is  neatly 
woven  of  long  grass  and  fibrous  roots.  It  is  covered  with 
a  roof  of  the  same  materials,  and  a  round  opening  is  made 
at  the  side  for  entrance.  The  nest  is  so  ingeniously  cov- 
ered with  grass  and  assimilated  to  the  surface  around  it, 
that  it  is  not  easily  discovered.  But  it  is  said  that  the 
Cowbird  is  able  to  find  it,  and  uses  it  as  a  depository  for 
its  eggs. 

^  A* 

THE   GREEN   WARBLER. 

Those  who  are  accustomed,  to  rambling  in  the  forest 
may  have  observed  that  pine  woods  are  remarkable  for 
certain  collections  of  mosses  which  have  cushioned  a  pro- 
jecting rock  or  the  decayed  stump  of  a  tree.  A\  hen 
weary  with  heat  and  exercise,  it  is  delightful  to  sit  down 
upon  one  of  these  green  velveted  couches  and  take  note 


126  BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST. 

of  the  objects  immediately  around  us.  We  are  then  pre- 
pared to  hear  the  least  sound  that  pervades  our  retreat. 
Some  of  the  sweetest  notes  ever  uttered  in  the  wood  are 
distinctly  heard  only  at  such  times ;  for  when  we  are 
passing  over  the  rustling  leaves,  the  noise  made  by  our 
progress  interferes  with  the  perfect  recognition  of  all 
delicate  sounds.  It  was  when  thus  reclining,  after  half 
a  day's  search  for  flowers,  under  the  grateful  shade  of  a 
pine-tree,  now  watching  the  white  clouds  that  sent  a 
brighter  daybeam  into  those  dark  recesses  as  they  passed 
luminously  overhead ;  then  noting  the  peculiar  mapping 
of  the  ground  underneath'  the  wood,  diversified  with  mosses 
in  swelling  knolls,  little  islets  of  fern,  and  parterres  of 
ginsengs  and  Solomon's-seals,  I  was  first  greeted  by  the 
pensive  note  of  the  Green  Warbler,  as  he  seemed  to  utter 
in  supplicating  tones,  very  slowly  modulated,  Hear  me, 
St.  Theresa !  This  strain,  as  I  have  observed  many  times 
since,  is  at  certain  hours  repeated  constantly  for  ten 
minutes  at  a  time ;  and  it  is  one  of  those  melodious 
sounds  that  seem  to  belong  exclusively  to  solitude. 

Though  these  notes  of  the  Green  Warbler  may  be 
familiar  to  all  who  are  accustomed  to  strolling  in  the 
wood,  the  bird  is  known  to  but  few  persons.  Some 
birds  of  this  species  are  constant  residents  during  summer 
in  the  woods  of  Eastern  Massachusetts,  but  the  greater 
number  retire  farther  north  in  the  breeding  season.  Nut- 
tall  remarks  of  the  Green  Warbler :  "  His  simple,  rather 
drawling,  and  somewhat  plaintive  song,  uttered  at  short 
intervals,  resembles  the  syllables  te,  cle,  deritsea,  pro- 
nounced pretty  loud  and  slow,  the  tones  proceeding  from 
high  to  low.  In  the  intervals,  he  was  particularly  busied 
in  catching  small  cynips  and  other  kinds  of  flies,  keeping 
up  a  smart  snapping  of  his  bill,  almost  similar  to  the 
noise  made  by  knocking  pebbles  together." 

There  is  a  plaintive  expression  in  this  musical  suppli- 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST.  127 

cation  that  is  apparent  to  all  who  hear  it,  no  less  than  if 
the  bird  were  truly  offering  prayers  to  some  tutelary  deity. 
It  is  difficult  to  determine  why  a  certain  combination 
of  sounds  should  affect  one  with  an  emotion  of  sadness, 
while  another,  under  the  same  circumstances,  produ 
a  feeling  of  joy.  This  is  a  part  of  the  philosophy  of 
music  which  has  not  been  explained. 

SONG  OF  THE  GREEN  WARBLER. 


ib  r i rr  tr  ?\r  m 

(( \2. — 1 . 5: — i, L  _f _ 

fj 


Hear     me,  St.        The  -  re     -     sa. 

THE   MARYLAND   YELLOW-THROAT. 

As  we  leave  the  forest  and  emerge  into  the  open  pas- 
ture, we  hear  a  greater  number  of  birds  than  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  wood.  More  sounds  are  awake  of  every 
description,  not  only  those  of  a  busy  neighboring  popu- 
lation, but  of  domestic  birds  and  quadrupeds.  On  the 
outside  of  the  wood,  if  the  ground  be  half  covered  with 
wild  shrubs,  you  will  hear  often  repeated  the  lively  song 
of  the  Maryland  Yellow-Throat.  Like  the  Summer  Yel- 
low-Bird, he  is  frequently  seen  among  the  willows  ;  but  lie 
is  less  familiar,  and  seldom  visits  the  garden  or  pleasure- 
ground.  The  angler  is  startled  by  his  notes  on  the  rushy 
borders  of  a  pond,  and  the  botanist  listens  to  them  while 
peeping  into  some  woodland  hollow  or  bushy  ravine. 
Even  the  woodcutter  is  delighted  with  his  song,  when, 
sitting  upon  a  new-fallen  tree,  he  hears  the  little  bird 
from  a  near  cornel-bush,  saying,  /  see,  I  see  you,  I  see,  I 
see  you-,  I  see,  I  see  you.  These  notes  are  not  unlike  those 
of  the  Brigadier,  and  are  both  lively  and  agreeable. 

In  its  plumage  the  Yellow-Throat  is  very  attractive. 
It  is  of  a  bright  olive-color  above,  with  a  yellow  throat 


128  BIRDS    OF   THE   PASTURE   AND    FOREST. 

and  breast,  and  a  black  band  extending  from  the  nostrils 
over  the  eye.  The  black  band  and  the  yellow  throat  are 
the  marks  by  which  the  bird  is  readily  identified.  From 
its  habits  of  perching  low,  frequenting  the  nndergrowth 
near  the  edge  of  the  wood,  building  upon  the  ground,  and 
seldom  visiting  the  higher  branches  of  trees,  it  has  Ob- 
tained the  name  of  Ground  Warbler. 


THE   SCARLET   TANAGER. 

"When  I  was  about  seven  years  of  age  I  first  saw  the 
Scarlet  Tanager,  lying  dead  in  a  heap  of  birds  which  had 
been  shot  by  two  Spaniards,  who  were  my  father's  private 
pupils.  The  line  plumage  of  this  bird  soon  attracted  my 
attention.  But  it  was  long  before  I  could  feel  reconciled 
to  this  slaughter,  though  delighted  with  the  opportunity 
of  examining  the  different  birds  in  the  heap.  Since  that 
time  I  have  often  found  the  Scarlet  Tanager  in  the  game- 
bags  of  young  sportsmen ;  but  I  have  seldom  seen  in  the 
woods  more  than  two  or  three  birds  of  this  species  in  any 
one  season. 

Low  grounds  and  oaken  woods  are  the  Tanager's  favor- 
ite habitats.  It  nestles  in  the  deep  forest,  and  builds  a 
loosely  constructed  nest  of  soft  grass  and  slender  brush, 
forming  a  shallow  basket  which  is  lodged  upon  some  hor- 
izontal bough  of  oak  or  pine.  This  bird,  however,  dis- 
plays no  skill  as  a  basket-maker,  hardly  surpassing  even 
the  Turtle-Dove  as  an  architect.  The  eggs  are  speckled 
on  a  ground  of  dull  pea-green.  The  male  Tanager  sings 
with  considerable  power  a  sort  of  interrupted  song,  modu- 
lated a  little  after  the  manner  of  the  Thrush.  Samuels 
kept  one  confined  six  months  in  a  cage,  and  in  a  week 
after  its  capture  it  submitted  quietly  to  its  confinement, 
and  became  tuneful.  He  compares  its  song  to  that  of  the 
Robin,  mixed  with  some  ventriloquial  notes.  We  hear  this 
bird  in  the  deep  wood  more  frequently  than  outside  of  it. 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST.  120 

THE   FLICKER. 

We  are  all  familiar  with  the  notes  of  this  Woodpecker, 
that  resemble  the  call-notes  of  the  common  Robin,  hut 
they  are  louder  and  more  prolonged.  Audubon  compares 
them  to  the  sounds  of  laughter  when  heard  at  a  distance. 
According  to  the  same  writer  the  males  woo  the  females 
very  much  after  the  manner  of  our  common  Doves.  They 
build  in  holes  in  trees,  but  you  never  see  them  climbing  a 
tree  like  other  Woodpeckers.  They  take  their  food  chiefly 
from  the  ground,  and  devour  great  quantities  of  ants. 

The  Flicker,  though  not  attractive  when  seen  at  a  dis- 
tance, is  found  to  have  very  beautiful  plumage  on  exami- 
nation. On  the  back  and  wings  it  is  chiefly  of  a  light 
brown,  with  black  bands  on  the  wing-feathers,  giving 
them  a  kind  of  speckled  appearance ;  a  scarlet  crescent 
on  the  back  of  the  head,  and  a  similar  shaped  black  patch 
on  the  throat.  The  under  surface  of  the  win^s  is  of  a 
golden  yellow.  Hence  it  is  sometimes  called  the  Golden- 
winged  Woodpecker.  Samuels  relates  that  if  the  eggs, 
which  are  of  a  pure  white,  be  removed  from  the  nest 
while  the  bird  is  laying,  she  will  continue  to  lay  like  a 
common  hen.  He  has  known  this  experiment  to  be  tried 
until  the  bird  had  laid  eighteen  or  twenty  eggs,  though 
her  usual  number  is  but  six. 

THE   ROSE-BREASTED   GROSBEAK. 

We  must  pass  out  of  the  woods  again,  where  we  can 
bask  in  the  sunshine,  and  obtain  a  view  of  fields  and 
farms,  to  hear  the  voice  of  the  Eose-breasted  Grosbeak. 
This  bird  was  not  an  acquaintance  of  my  early  yens. 
Certain  changes  of  climate  or  soil,  either  here  or  in  its 
former  habitats,  have  caused  it  to  be  a  regular  sojourner  in 
New  England  for  twenty  years  past,  and  the  species  arrive 
every  year  in  increased  numbers.    Formerly  their  residence 

6*  i 


130  BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST. 

was  chiefly  confined  to  the  Middle  States.  Xow  we  may 
see  them  frequently  every  summer,  but  not  in  familiar 
places  or  in  those  which  are  very  solitary.  I  have  seen 
them  many  times  in  Medford  woods,  and  in  those  near 
Fresh  Pond  in  Cambridge,  and  in  Essex  County. 

The  first  time  I  heard  the  note  of  the  Grosbeak  I  mis- 
took it  for  the  song  of  the  Golden  Eobin,  prolonged, 
varied,  and  improved  in  an  unusual  degree.  I  soon,  how- 
ever, discovered  the  bird,  and  thought  his  lively  manners, 
no  less  than  his  brilliant  notes,  were  like  those  of  the 
Golden  Eobin.  His  song  is  greatly  superior  to  that  of  the 
Bedbird  or  Cardinal  Grosbeak,  which  is  only  a  repetition 
of  two  or  three  sweet  notes,  like  chc-hoo,  clic-hoo,  chc-Jwo, 
rapidly  delivered,  the  last  note  of  each  two  about  a  third 
lower  than  the  first.  In  the  South  he  is  joined  by  the 
Mocking-Bird,  which  all  day  tiresomely  repeats  these 
notes  of  the  Cardinal. 

The  Bose-breasted  Grosbeak  is  classed  among  our  noc- 
turnal songsters  by  those  who  are  familiar  with  its  habits. 
Samuels  has  heard  it  frequently  in  the  night,  and  says  of 
its  song  that  it  is  "  a  sweet  warble  with  various  emphatic 
passages,  and  sometimes  a  plaintive  strain  exceedingly 
tender  and  affecting."  This  description  seems  to  me  very 
beautiful  and  accurate.  Mr.  S.  P.  Fowler  thinks  this  bird 
is  not  heard  so  frequently  by  night  as  by  day,  though  it 
often  sings  in  the  light  of  the  moon.  The  moon,  indeed, 
seems  to  be  the  source  of  inspiration  to  all  nocturnal 
songsters.  Though  I  once  mistook  the  sono-  of  this  Gros- 
beak  for  that  of  the  Golden  Bobin,  lately  I  have  thought 
it  more  like  the  native  song  of  the  Mocking-Bird,  and 
not  inferior  to  it  in  any  respect.  He  utters  but  few 
plaintive  notes.  They  are  mostly  cheerful,  melodious, 
and  exhilarating.  They  are  modulated  somewhat  like 
those  of  the  Purple  Finch,  delivered  more  loudly  and  with 
a  great  deal  more  precision. 


FLOWERS  AS  EMBLEMS. 

The  custom  of  emblemizing  flowers,  which  has  pre- 
vailed among  all  nations,  springs  from  a  native  passion 
of  the  human  mind.  To  the  fancy  they  are  person^, 
objects  of  friendship  and  love,  having  the  semblance  of 
our  virtues  and  affections.  If  we  speak  of  them  with 
passionate  regard,  it  is  because  we  thus  personify  them 
and  clothe  them  with  human  and  even  divine  qualities. 
The  virtues  we  admire  in  the  characters  of  our  friends  Ave 
are  delighted  to  behold  symbolized  in  flowers.  Hence 
those  representing  modesty,  humility,  delicacy,  and  purity 
are  our  favorites,  while  we  seldom  long  admire  the  gaudy 
and  showy  flowers.  We  prize  them  in  proportion  as 
they  are  suggestive  of  some  pleasing  moral  sentiment. 
Hence  a  white  flower,  which  is  without  beauty  of  color, 
often  gains  more  of  our  admiration  than  another  similar 
one  of  beautiful  tints. 

Wordsworth  habitually  views  the  minor  works  of  na- 
ture through  this  moral  coloring,  and  loves  to  speak  the 
praises  of  the  common  and  simple  garden  flowers.  Like 
a  true  poet,  he  sees  in  them  more  to  awaken  pleasant  and 
salutary  thoughts  than  in  those  which  are  prized  at  floral 
exhibitions.  He  has  woven  many  delightful  emblematic 
images  with  flowers,  and  through  them  has  conveyed  im- 
portant sentiments  of  a  moral  and  religious  kind.  He 
considers  the  daisy,  which  is  scattered  widely  in  England 
over  every  field  and  near  every  footpath,  and  which  is 
also  cultivated  at  cottage-windows  in  many  different 
countries,  as  a  "pilgrim  of  nature,"  whose  home  is  every- 


132  FLOWERS   AS   EMBLEMS. 

where.  He  thinks  there  abides  with  this  little  plant 
some  concord  with  humanity;  and  that  those  who  are 
easily  depressed  may  learn  a  lesson  from  it.  It  will 
teach  them  by  its  cheerful  example  how  to  find  a  shelter 
in  every  climate  and  under  all  conditions  of  adversity, 
engaging  the  affections  of  all  no  less  by  its  modest  beauty 
than  by  its  capacity  of  living  and  thriving,  and  remain- 
in  *>•  bright  and  cheerful  under  all  circumstances  of  culture 
or  neglect. 

He  also  praises,  in  another  poem,  the  small  celandine. 
He  greets  it  as  the  prophet  of  spring  and  its  attractions ; 
and  speaks  of  the  thrifty  cottager  who  stirs  seldom  out  of 
doors,  and  who  is  charmed  with  the  sight  of  this  humble 
flower  by  reason  of  its  happy  augury  of  the  year.  He 
commends  it  for  its  kindly  and  unassuming  disposition. 
Careless  of  its  neighborhood,  we  see  its  pleasant  face  in 
wood  and  meadow,  in  the  rustic  lane  and  in  the  stately 
avenue,  on  the  princely  domain  and  in  the  meanest  place 
upon  the  highway.  It  is  pleased  and  contented  in  all 
situations,  and  the  poet  glows  in  his  description  of  its 
unpretending  virtues.  He  rebukes  the  gaudy  flowers  that 
will  be  seen  whether  we  would  see  them  or  not,  and  con- 
siders them  as  exemplifying  the  pride  of  worldlings ;  and 
a<Tain  he  extols  the  virtues  of  the  small  celandine. 

In  another  poem  he  compares  the  ambitious,  who,  with- 
out more  than  ordinary  talents  or  merit,  aspire  to  some 
lofty  station,  to  a  tuft  of  fern  on  the  summit  of  a  high 
rock.  It  is  a  miserable  thing,  "  dry,  withered,  light,  and 
yellow,"  that  endeavors  to  soar  with  the  tempest  and  ex- 
pose itself  to  observation  ;  but  all  its  importance  belongs 
to  its  position.  AVe  wonder  how  it  came  there,  and  how 
it  is  able  to  keep  its  place,  while  plants  of  superior  quali- 
ties would  be  unable  to  transport  themselves  thither ;  and 
if  by  accident  they  should  arrive  at  such  a  height,  they 
"could  not  sustain  it.     The  fern  by  its  meanness  accom- 


FLOWERS   AS   EMBLEMS.  133 

plishes  what,  if  it  possessed  a  nobler  nature,  would  be  im- 
possible. Thus,  he  continues,  mean  men,  never  doubting 
their  own  merit  or  capacity,  and  unscrupulous  of  the 
means  they  use  to  elevate  themselves  or  to  keep  their 
place,  rise  to  eminences  which  men  of  genius  and  integ- 
rity could  not  attain,  because  they  scorn  the  actions  that 
would  insure  them  success. 

The  rose,  in  all  ages,  has  been  regarded  as  the  emblem 
of  beauty  and  virtue,  having  in  addition  to  its  visual  at- 
tractions a  fragrance  that  always  endures.  The  Hebrew 
and  classical  writers  have  associated  this  flower  with  cer- 
tain divine  qualities  which  are  held  up  for  our  love  and 
reverence.  The  lily  is  no  less  celebrated,  being  frequently 
mentioned  in  Holy  Writ  to  adorn  a  parable  or  to  improve 
the  force  of  some  poetic  image.  Among  all  nations  it 
is  a  chosen  symbol  of  meekness  and  modesty,  and  it  is 
more  frequently  celebrated  in  lyric  poetry  than  any  other 
flower,  because  it  is  the  semblance,  in  the  highest  degree, 
of  those  qualities  which  are  favorite  themes  of  the  poets. 
Its  paleness  is  typical  of  delicacy,  while  its  drooping  habit 
renders  it  a  true  emblem  of  sorrow.  It  is  the  metaphori- 
cal image  of  the  meek  and  passive  virtues,  while  the  per- 
fume it  sends  abroad  may  be  compared  to  the  influence 
of  a  good  man's  life. 

I  have  said  nothing  of  the  language  of  flowers,  which 
seems  in  general  to  have  only  a  slight  foundation  in  na- 
ture. It  is  rather  the  result  of  an  agreement  to  use  cer- 
tain flowers  to  signify  certain  words  or  ideas  arbitrarily 
applied  to  them.  It  is  indeed  but  an  agreeable  form  of 
writing  by  cipher.  In  some  cases  this  language  is  founded 
on  a  legend  or  a  poetic  fable,  in  others  on  the  emblematic 
characters  of  the  flowers.  Thus,  the  violet  signifies  mod- 
esty, because  its  colors  are  soft,  and  the  flower  seems  to 
hide  itself  from  observation.  In  like  manner  the  sensi- 
tive plant  is  expressive  of  purity,  because  it  shrinks  from 


134  FLOWERS   AS   EMBLEMS. 

the  touch ;  and  the  balsam  of  impatience,  because  its  cap- 
sules snap  in  the  hand  that  is  put  forth  to  gather  them. 
Let  us  not  deride  the  harmless  amusements  that  spring 
from  this  philological  use  of  flowers,  nor  despise  the  inge- 
nuity that  invented  them.  A  bouquet  that  conveys  an 
affectionate  message  from  a  young  lover  to  his  mistress 
possesses  a  charm  in  her  sight  which  genius  could  hardly 
express  in  the  finest  verses. 

Flowers  serve  a  more  needful  purpose  in  the  economy 
of  nature  than  we  are  prone  to  imagine ;  and  they  pro- 
duce more  effect  on  the  dullest  minds  than  many  even  of 
the  most  susceptible  would  acknowledge.  But  it  is  not 
an  uncommon  habit,  especially  among  the  ignorant,  to 
ridicule  the  study  of  flowers  and  those  who  are  devoted 
to  it.  On  the  other  hand,  they  do  not  despise  the  occu- 
pation of  the  florist,  because  it  brings  him  money.  Others 
consider  botany  a  trifling  pursuit,  worthy  the  attention  only 
of  persons  of  effeminate  habits  ;  but  I  have  never  been  able 
to  learn  that  these  objectors  are  contemners  of  any  of  those 
fashionable  habits  which  are  confessedly  enervating  and 
destructive  of  mental  and  physical  power.  Nothing  can 
enervate  that  actively  employs  the  mind  and  exercises 
the  body  at  the  same  time,  as  may  be  said  of  the  out- 
door study  of  botany  and  that  of  any  other  branch  of 
natural  history.  They  are  the  most  invigorating  of  all 
intellectual  pursuits.  Nor  is  the  stud^of  flowers  the  less 
worthy  of  attention,  though  we  admit  that  it  exercises 
the  imagination  and  fancy  more  than  it  stores  the  mind 
with  knowledge.  The  same  charge  may  be  brought  against 
the  pursuit  of  any  of  the  fine  arts. 

The  botanist,  however,  does  not  study  flowers  merely 
as  beautiful  objects.  As  a  scientific  observer,  he  finds  in 
them  the  exponents  of  the  laws  of  vegetation,  which  can 
be  understood  only  by  the  keenest  perceptions.  Hence 
the  fact  that  among  botanists  may  be  named  some  of  the 


FLOWERS   AS   EMBLEMS.  13,3 

greatest  men  who  have  lived.  As  a  moral  and  poetic 
observer,  he  discerns  in  flowers,  not  mere  gems  sparkling 
on  the  bosom  of  Nature,  but  so  many  living  beings,  look- 
ing up  to  him  from  the  greensward,  and  down  upon  him 
from  the  trees  and  cliffs,  and  inspiring  him  with  a  feeling  of 
sympathy  with  all  the  visible  world.  What  can  be  more 
worthy  of  study  than  this  beautiful  assemblage  of  living 
things,  whose  relations  to  each  other  and  to  men  and  ani- 
mals unfold  a  thousand  singular  mysteries,  whose  forms 
and  colors  produce  the  most  delicate  conceptions  of  art, 
and  wdiose  metaphorical  characters  have  rendered  them 
the  very  poetry  of  nature !  Religion  and  virtue,  science, 
painting,  and  poetry,  all  have  their  readings  in  these 
brilliant  pets  of  the  florist  and  toys  of  children.  The 
stars  of  heaven  do  not  convey  to  our  minds  a  more  vivid 
conception  of  the  mysteries  of  the  universe  than  the  flow- 
ers that  sparkle  in  the  same  countless  numbers  on  the 
earth. 

Let  us  imagine  that  the  earth  had  been  created  without 
flowers ;  that  the  greensward  was  sprinkled  with  no  vio- 
lets in  the  opening  of  the  year,  and  that  May  flung  around 
her  footsteps  neither  daisies  nor  cowslips ;  that  summer 
called  out  no  blossoms  upon  the  trees,  and  that  autumn 
bound  with  his  ripened  sheaves  neither  asters  nor  golden- 
rods,  and  looked  through  his  frosty  eyelids  upon  neither 
gentians  nor  euphrasia  !  Let  us  imagine  that  the  dews 
cherished  nothing  fairer  than  the  green  foliage  of  herbs 
and  trees,  and  that  the  light  of  morning,  which  now  un- 
folds the  splendor  of  millions  of  tinted  corols,  sparkled 
only  in  the  crystal  dewdrops  ;  that  the  butterfly  looked 
in  vain  for  its  counterpart  among  the  plants  that  now 
offer  it  their  allurements,  and  that  the  bee  was  not  one 
of  the  living  forms  of  nature,  because  the  fields  produced 
no  flowers  for  its  sustenance  !  Who  would  not  feel  that 
some  unknown  blessing  was  denied  us  ?     Who  would  not 


136  FLOWERS   AS   EMBLEMS. 

believe  that  there  was  some  imperfection  in  the  order  of 
nature  ? 

What  fanciful  image  of  happiness  is  not  associated 
with  flowers,  —  the  delight  of  infant  ramblers  in  the  sun- 
shine of  May ;  the  reward  of  their  searchings  in  the  mead- 
ows among  brambles  and  ferns  ;  infantile  honors  and  dec- 
orations for  the  brows  of  childhood;  the  types  of  their 
budding  affections  and  the  materials  for  their  cheerful 
devices  ;  the  ornaments  of  young  May-queens  and  the  joy 
of  their  attendants ;  the  fair  objects  of  their  quest  in 
the  sunny  borders  of  fragrant  woods ;  the  pride  of  then 
simple  ambition  when  woven  into  garlands  of  love ! 
How  blank  would  the  earth  be  to  childhood  without 
flowers  !  How  destitute  the  fields  of  beauty  and  nature 
of  poetry  ! 

But  Nature,  who  set  light  in  heaven  to  beam  with 
every  imaginable  hue,  has  not  made  us  sensitive  to  beauty 
without  bestowing  upon  the  earth  those  forms  which, 
like  the  letters  of  a  book,  convey  to  the  mind  an  infinity 
of  delightful  thoughts  and  conceptions.     Hence  flowers 
are   made   to  spring  up  in  wood   and  dell,  by  solitary 
streams,  in  moss-grown    recesses,  near  every  path  that 
glides  through  the  meadow,  and  in  every  green  lane  that 
wanders  through  the  forest;  and  Nature  has  given  them 
an  endless  variety  of  forms,  colors,  and  deportment,  that 
by  their  different  expressions  they  may  awaken  every 
agreeable  passion  of  the  soul.     There  is  no  place  where 
their  light  is  not  to  be  seen.    The  inhabitant  of  the  South 
beholds  them  in  trees  looking  down  upon  him  like  the 
birds  ;  the  man  of  the  North  sees  them  embossed  in  ver- 
dure, under  the  protection  of  trees  and  rocks.     Insects 
sip  from  their  honey-cups  the  nectar  of  their  subsistence, 
during  a  life  as  ephemeral  as  that  of  the  blossom  they 
plunder ;  and  the  summer  gales  rejoice  in  their  sweets, 
with  which  they  have  laden  their  wings.    Morning  greets 


FLOWERS   AS   EMBLEMS.  137 

them  when  she  wakes,  and  sees  them  spread  out  their 
petals  to  the  light  of  the  sun,  all  glowing  with  beauty 
when  the  dews  that  sleep  nightly  in  their  bosoms  steal 
silently  back  to  heaven  ;  and  every  day  is  relieved  of  its 
weariness  by  the  myriads  that  brighten  when  it  approach- 
es, and  sweeten  with  their  fragrance  the  transitory  visits 
of  each  fleeting  hour. 

Where  is  the  mind  so  impassive  that  it  is  not  animated 
by  the  presence  of  flowers  and  made  hopeful  by  their 
gayety  ?  "Where  is  the  eye  that  does  not  see  them,  and 
note  their  comeliness,  and  wish  that  they  might  never 
droop  or  decay  ?  Where  is  the  lover  that  does  not  view 
them  as  partaking  of  his  own  passion,  and  looking  fair 
for  the  sake  of  her  for  whom  they  seem  to  be  created  ? 
The  young  bride,  when,  garlanded  with  their  wreaths, 
feels  that  the  virtues  that  should  reside  in  her  heart  have 
shed  their  grace  upon  her  through  these  fair  symbols ;  and 
mourners,  when  they  see  them  clustering  round  the  tomb 
of  a  departed  friend,  worship  them  as  lights  of  heaven, 
foreshowing  in  their  sleep  and  resuscitation  the  soul's 
immortality ! 


PICTURESQUE  ANIMALS. 

It  may  be  observed  that  in  pictures,  when  a  certain 
effect  is  required,  an  animal  is  often  introduced  whose 
character  and  habits  correspond  with  the  scenery,  or  the 
sentiment  to  be  awakened.  A  scene  in  nature  without 
some  such  accompaniment  often  fails  in  producing  any 
emotion  in  the  mind.  A  heron  standing  on  the  borders 
of  a  solitary  mere,  a  kingfisher  sitting  on  the  leafless 
branch  of  a  tree  that  extends  over  the  tide,  a  woodpecker 
climbing  the  denuded  branch  of  an  oak,  yield  to  the  re- 
spective scenes  in  which  they  are  represented  a  life  and 
a  character  which  could  not  be  so  well  expressed  with- 
out them.  A  few  cows  grazing  on  a  grassy  slope,  a  dog 
reposing  at  the  doorstep  of  a  cottage,  or  a  cat  quietly 
slumbering  inside  of  the  window,  are  each  suggestive  of 
pleasant  images  of  rural  life,  and  add  greatly  to  the  inter- 
est of  the  scene.  The  majority  of  animals  require  to  be 
viewed  in  connection  with  certain  other  objects  to  acquire 
a  picturesque  expression ;  but  there  are  others  which  are 
endowed  with  this  quality  in  a  remarkable  degree,  and 
need  only  to  be  seen  in  any  situation  to  awaken  a  certain 
agreeable  train  of  images. 

Among  birds  the  owl  is  often  represented  in  engrav- 
ings, when  it  is  designed  to  impart  to  the  scene  a  char- 
acter of  desolation.  AVe  often  see  this  bird  accompanying 
a  picture  of  ruins  or  of  a  deserted  house,  and  in  poetry 
he  is  introduced  to  awaken  certain  peculiar  trains  of 
thought.  Thus  the  poet  Gray,  when  he  would  add  a  des- 
olate expression  to  his  description  of  evening,  speaks  of 


PICTURESQUE   ANIMALS.  1.    I 

the  owl  as  complaining  to  the  moon  of  such  as  molest  his 
ancient  solitary  reign.  The  allusion  to  his  nocturnal 
habits  and  to  his  solitary  dominions  brings  still  more 
vividly  to  mind  those  qualities  with  which  the  image  of 
the  bird  is  associated.  His  appropriate  habitations  are 
the  ruined  tower,  the  ancient  belfry,  or  the  hollow  of  an 
old  tree.  In  all  such  places  the  figure  of  the  owl  is 
deeply  suggestive  of  those  fancies  which  are  awakened 
by  the  sight  of  ancient  dilapidated  buildings,  crumbling 
walls,  and  old  houses  supposed  to  be  the  residence  of 
wicked  spirits  which  are  permitted  to  visit  the  earth. 

It  is  on  account  of  these  dreary  and  poetic  associations 
that  the  owl  is  so  truly  picturesque.  He  is  often  seen,  in 
paintings  and  engravings,  perched  on  an  old  gateway,  or 
on  one  of  the  bars  of  an  old  fence,  whose  posts,  leaning 
obliquely,  show  that  they  have  been  heaved  by  the  frosts 
of  many  winters.  In  certain  situations  our  slumbers  are 
sometimes  disturbed  by  the  peculiar  hooting  of  this  bird, 
that  awakens  in  the  mind  the  gloomy  horrors  of  midnight. 
His  nocturnal  and  solitary  habits,  the  unearthly  tones 
and  modulation  of  his  voice,  his  practice  of  frequenting 
rude  and  desolate  places  and  haunted  houses,  have  caused 
his  image  to  be  intimately  connected  with  mystery  and 
gloomy  forebodings  of  evil.  The  very  stillness  of  his 
flight  yields  a  sort  of  mysterious  character  to  the  bird  ; 
all  these  circumstances,  combined  with  his  fabled  repu- 
tation for  wisdom,  and  his  demure  and  solemn  expression 
of  countenance,  have  conspired  to  render  the  owl  one  of 
the  most  picturesque  of  all  living  creatures. 

The  bat  is  another  creature,  in  some  respects,  of  simi- 
lar habits  and  reputation.  Like  the  owl,  it  naturally 
seeks,  for  its  retreat  during  the  day,  those  unfrequented 
places  where  it  is  not  liable  to  be  disturbed,  and  has 
acquired  a  character  and  expression  in  harmony  with  the 
scenes  it  frequents.     But  it  is  remarkable  that  while  the 


140  PICTUEESQUE  ANIMALS. 

owl  Las  obtained  an  emblematical  cbaracter  for  wisdom, 
the  bat  is  regarded  as  the  emblem  of  guilt.  He  is  repre- 
sented as  shunning  the  broad  eye  of  day,  and  as  flying- 
out  on  leathern  wing,  when  the  dusky  shades  of  evening 
may  serve  to  hide  him  from  detection.  The  sight  of  the 
bat,  however,  is  far  from  awakening  in  our  minds  the  idea 
of  guilt;  but  his  image  is  strongly  suggestive  of  the 
pleasant  serenity  of  evening,  as  the  butterfly  reminds  us 
of  summer  fields  and  flowers.  Our  ideas  of  the  bat  are 
somewhat  grotesque ;  and  when,  after  the  graceful  swal- 
low has  retired  to  rest,  we  observe  his  irregular  and  zigzag 
flight,  we  are  unavoidably  reminded  of  his  peculiar  hid- 
eous formation,  from  which  the  idea  of  making  him  an 
emblem  of  guilt  probably  originated.  It  would  seem  as 
if  he  hid  himself  during  the  day,  lest  his  relationship 
to  a  race  of  beings  now  almost  banished  from  the  earth 
might  be  discovered.  His  emblematical  character  does 
not  prevent  his  forming  an  interesting  feature  in  a  rural 
scene.  Hence  in  pictorial  representations  of  evening  we 
see  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  streaming  upward  in  beauti- 
ful radiations  from  behind  a  hill,  while  the  bat  is  flitting 
about  an  old  house  in  a  rude  and  rather  quiet  landscape. 
All  animals  are  picturesque  which  are  consecrated  to 
poetry.  In  English  descriptive  poetry  the  lark  is  as 
familiar  to  us  as  the  rose  that  clambers  around  the  cot- 
tage door.  The  unrivalled  brilliancy  of  his  song,  which, 
by  description,  is  impressed  on  our  minds  with  a  vivid- 
ness almost  like  that  of  memory,  and  its  continuance 
after  he  has  soared  to  an  immense  height  in  the  air,  cause 
him  to  be  allied  in  our  minds  with  the  sublimity  of 
heaven  and  with  the  beauty  and  splendor  of  morning. 
I  never  had  an  opportunity  to  witness  the  flight  of  the 
skylark ;  but  I  have  always  imagined  that  the  sentiment 
of  sublimity  must  greatly  enhance  the  pleasure  with 
which  we  gaze  upon  his  flight  and  listen  to  his  notes. 


PICTURESQUE   ANIMALS.  141 

The  very  minuteness  of  an  object  soaring  to  such  a  sub- 
lime elevation  gives  us  an  idea  of  some  almost  super- 
natural power,  and  his  delightful  song  would  seem  to  In- 
derived  from  heaven,  whither  he  takes  his  flight  while 
giving  utterance  to  it.  We  have  no  skylarks  in  America  ; 
but  our  common  snipes,  during  the  month  of  May,  are 
addicted  to  this  habit  of  soaring,  as  I  have  remarked  in 
another  essay,  for  a  few  hours  after  sunset.  I  have  often 
watched  them  in  former  times,  and  when  witnessing  their 
spiral  flight  upwards  to  a  great  elevation,  and  listening  to 
their  distinct  but  monotonous  warbling  after  they  have 
arrived  at  the  summit  of  their  ascent,  I  have  been  con- 
scious of  an  emotion  of  sublimity  from  a  spectacle  which 
might  be  supposed  too  trivial  to  produce  any  such  effect. 
The  picturesque  character  of  the  lark  is  apparent  only 
when  he  is  represented  in  his  soaring  flight.  There  is 
nothing  peculiar  in  the  appearance  of  this  bird  as  in  that 
of  the  owl.  The  sight  of  him  aloft  in  the  heavens  is 
necessary,  therefore,  to  suggest  the  idea  of  his  habits  and 
to  make  his  true  character  apparent  to  the  mind. 

Among  the  animals  mentioned,  by  certain  writers  as 
possessing  in  an  eminent  degree  those  qualities  which 
appertain  to  the  picturesque,  is  the  ass.  This  point  in 
his  character  is  attributed  very  erroneously  to  his  shaggy 
and  uncouth  appearance.  It  may  assist  in  heightening 
the  expression  of  the  animal ;  but  there  are  various  ro- 
mantic and  poetical  ideas  associated  with  his  figure,  to 
which  this  quality  is  mainly  attributable.  If  it  were 
owing  to  his  rude  and  rough  exterior,  the  baboon  and 
the  hyena  would  be  as  picturesque  as  the  ass.  No  such 
ideas,  however,  are  associated  witli  these  animals.  The 
ass  derives  much  of  this  character  from  his  connection 
witli  the  incidents  of  romance  and  history.  II'-  is  tin* 
beast  of  burden  most  frequently  mentioned  in  the  ( >M 
Testament,  in  the  Fables  of  JEsop,  and  in  the  writings 


142  PICTURESQUE   ANIMALS. 

of  Oriental  travellers.  As  Dugald  Stewart  has  observed, 
we  associate  him  with  the  old  patriarchs  in  their  jour- 
neys to  new  lands ;  and  we  have  often  seen  him  forming 
an  important  figure  in  old  paintings  and  engravings. 
It  is  not  his  shaggy  coat  and  uncouth  appearance  that 
yield  him  his  picturesque  character,  so  much  as  the  in- 
teresting scenes  and  adventures  with  which  his  figure  is 
associated. 

The  same  remarks  may  be  applied  with  equal  propriety 
to  the  goat.  He  is  the  animal  of  mountain  scenery,  and 
the  sight  of  him  brings  to  mind  a  variety  of  romantic  in- 
cidents connected  with  such  landscape.  He  is  often  rep- 
resented as  standing  on  jjrecipitous  heights  and  browsing 
upon  dangerous  declivities.  He  is,  in  fact,  one  of  the  dumb 
heroes  of  dangerous  adventure.  With  the  inhabitants  of 
mountainous  countries,  as  among  the  Alps  and  the  High- 
lands of  Scotland,  the  goat  is  the  domesticated  animal 
that  supplies  them  with  milk.  The  hardiness  and  activity 
of  the  goat,  his  frequent  introduction  into  pictures  of 
Alpine  scenery,  and  his  habit  of  finding  sustenance  in 
wild  regions  and  fastnesses  where  no  other  animal  could 
live,  combine  to  render  his  image  strongly  suggestive  of 
rusticity  and  the  simple  habits  of  mountaineers. 

It  is  common  to  regard  the  uncouthness  of  the  appear- 
ance of  these  animals  as  the  quality  from  which  they  derive 
their  picturesque  expression.  It  is  much  more  probable 
that,  on  account  of  the  absence  of  beauty  of  color,  smooth- 
ness, and  symmetry,  the  imagination  is  left  more  entirely 
to  the  influence  of  the  poetic  and  traditional  images 
connected  with  these  animals.  In  this  way  it  may  be 
explained  why  rudeness  is,  to  a  certain  extent,  a  nega- 
tive picturesque  quality,  because  it  leaves  the  imagina- 
tion entirely  to  the  suggestions  of  the  scene ;  whereas,  if 
it  were  very  beautiful,  the  mind  would  be  more  agreeably 
occupied  in  surveying  its  intrinsic  beauties  than  in  dwell- 


PICTURESQUE   ANIMALS.  14^5 

ing  upon  its  more  poetical  relations  to  certain  other  ideas 
and  objects. 

Why  is  the  horse  not  a  picturesque  animal,  it  may  he 
asked,  but  on  account  of  the  sleekness  of  his  appearance  ? 
I  am  persuaded  that  his  sleekness  stands  in  the  way  of 
this  expression,  only  so  far  as  it  causes  him  to  be  asso- 
ciated with  fashion  and  the  pomp  and  pride  of  wealth. 
Hence,  it  must  be  allowed  that  the  only  horses  that  have 
this  quality  are  shaggy  ponies  and.  cart-horses.  This 
proves  only  that  their  rough  exterior  is  the  indication  of 
the  rusticity  of  their  habits,  not  that  it  is  an  intrinsic 
quality  of  the  picturesque,  which  has  indeed  no  intrinsic 
properties,  like  beauty,  but  is  founded  on  association. 
Were  the  case  reversed,  and  were  animals  to  become 
sleek  when  engaged  in  rustic  employments,  and  rough 
and  hairy  when  feci  and  combed  and  pampered  by  wealthy 
and  lordly  masters,  in  that  case  the  smoothest  animals 
would  be  the  most  picturesque.  The  squirrel,  which  is  a 
sleek  and  graceful  animal,  is,  in  spite  of  these  qualities, 
more  picturesque  than  the  rough  and  rusty  looking  rat. 
In  this  instance  the  principle  is  reversed,  because  the 
smoothness  and  gracefulness  of  the  squirrel  are  associated 
with  his  interesting  habits  of  playfulness  and  agility, 
while  running  about  from  branch  to  branch  among  his 
native  groves.  On  the  contrary,  the  smooth  and  symmet- 
rical horse  cannot,  by  any  pictorial  accompaniments,  be 
made  so  expressive  as  the  rough  and  homely  ass. 

I  have  just  alluded  to  the  squirrel  as  one  of  the  most 
picturesque  of  the  smaller  animals ;  but  it  is  worthy  of 
notice  that  it  must  be  represented  in  its  native  habitats  to 
possess  this  character  in  full  force.  Though  a  squirrel  in 
a  cage  is  a  beautiful  object,  especially  when  turning  his 
revolving  grate  by  the  rapid  motions  of  his  feet,  yet  a 
picture  of  one  in  that  situation  would  have  none  of  that 
suggestiveness  of  poetical  and  agreeable  fancies  that  ren- 


144  PICTURESQUE   ANIMALS. 

ders  a  scene  picturesque.  In  a  representation  of  a  little 
cottage  in  the  woods  nothing  could  add  more  to  its  pleas- 
ing pastoral  expression  than  the  figure  of  a  squirrel  run- 
ning; aloiii?  on  a  stone-wall  or  on  the  branch  of  an  old  tree. 
The  sight  awakens  all  those  poetical  images  which  are 
associated  with  life  in  the  fields.  Place  the  squirrel  in  a 
cage,  and  it  reminds  us  only  of  the  town,  and  expresses 
nothing  that  is  agreeable  to  a  poetic  fancy.  Every  wild 
animal  must  appear  to  be  enjoying  its  freedom,  or  the 
representation  of  it  would  fail  in  giving  delight.  The 
same  is  true  of  the  human  race.  While  persons  of  the 
laboring  classes  add  to  the  interesting  character  of  a  scene 
in  nature,  a  single  figure,  male  or  female,  in  fashionable 
apparel,  destroys  the  whole  effect.  Hence,  almost  all  the 
representations  of  picnics  fail  in  awakening  any  poetic 
emotions. 

A  shepherd,  when  properly  represented  with  his  crook, 
which  is  his  staff  of  office,  and  surrounded  by  the  animals 
of  his  charge,  his  faithful  dog,  the  rustic  cottage,  the 
sheepfold,  and  the  general  rude  scenery  of  nature,  is  always 
picturesque.  But  his  appearance  must  be  entirely  that  of 
a  shepherd,  without  any  of  the  ways  or  the  gear  of  a  man 
of  the  town.  I  have  seen  a  picture  of  two  young  shep- 
herds in  the  mountains,  in  which  the  characteristic  qualities 
of  the  scene  are  entirely  destroyed  by  a  certain  genteel  or 
finical  air  and  expression  observed  in  their  countenance 
and  attitudes.  Instead  of  rustic  shepherds  we  see  two 
young  men,  each  with  a  crook,  sitting  and  reclining  upon 
a  rock.  They  are  very  neatly  dressed,  and  look  as  if  they 
were  young  sprigs  of  the  nobility,  who  had  gone  into  the 
mountains  for  a  few  days,  merely  to  play  shepherd ;  so 
nicely  is  their  hair  arranged,  that  the  longitudinal  parting 
is  distinctly  seen,  caused  by  the  smoothing  away  of  the 
hair  on  each  side  of  the  head.  The  expression  of  their  faces 
corresponds  with  the  rest  of  their  appearance ;  one,  in 


PICTURESQUE   ANIMALS.  14.j 

particular,  having  that  look  of  conscious  self-satisfaction 
which  we  often  observe  in  a  silly  fop  of  the  town.  The 
very  manner  in  which  he  leans  his  head  upon  his  thumb 
and  fingers  betrays  his  concern  lest  he  should  spoil  the 
arrangement  of  his  hair.  How  strange  that  the  painter 
of  this  piece  should  not  have  seen  that  all  these  little 
trifles  completely  ruined  the  picturesque  character  of  his 
painting ! 

One  of  the  most  interesting  engravings  I  have  seen 
represents  a  peasant-girl,  in  the  neat  and  simple  attire  of 
her  own  humble  station  in  life,  in  the  act  of  bearing  a 
pitcher  of  water  which  she  has  just  dipped  from  a  rustic 
well.  How  easily  might  the  designer  have  ruined  the 
whole  expression  of  this  piece,  either  by  making  the  well 
an  elegant  and  fanciful  structure  or  by  making  the  damsel 
a  fine  lady  in  her  silks  and  laces.  The  sight  of  a  picnic 
party  assembled  together  in  the  woods  and  pastures  is 
always  pleasing;  but,  as  I  have  already  intimated,  it  fails 
in  interest  when  represented  on  canvas,  because,  witli 
all  the  fine  images  connected  with  it,  it  savors  of  the 
vanity  of  fashionable  or  rather  of  town  life.  After  wit- 
nessing one  of  these  scenes,  while  journeying  leisurely  in 
a  chaise  on  a  pleasant  day  in  October,  I  chanced  to  see 
a  group  of  little  country  girls,  in  the  simplest  apparel, 
gathering  nuts  under  a  tree.  What  a  crowd  of  pleasant 
recollections  of  the  past  was  immediately  awakened  by 
the  sight !  "  There,"  exclaimed  my  companion,  "  is  a  scene 
for  a  painter.  Such  a  little  group  in  a  picture  would 
afford  us  inexpressible  delight.  Yet,  were  I  to  join  either 
party,  I  should  prefer  to  be  one  of  the  other  company  ;it 
the  picnic."  "For  the  very  plain  reason,"  I  replied,  "  that 
in  the  latter  company  you  would  expect  to  find  some  in- 
telligent persons  who  would  be  interesting  companion 
But  this  is  not  what  we  look  for  in  a  picture,  which 
pleases  in  proportion  to  the  simplicity  of  its  characters." 


146  PICTURESQUE   ANIMALS. 

These  remarks  might  be  indefinitely  extended;  but 
each  new  example  would  serve  only  to  repeat  the  illus- 
tration of  the  same  principle.  In  no  other  engravings 
do  we  see  the  picturesque  more  clearly  exemplified  than 
in  the  vignettes  which  are  found  in  books  published  early 
in  the  last  century.  Since  luxury  has  extended  into  the 
circle  of  the  middle  and  industrious  classes,  the  simplicity 
of  their  habits  has  been  destroyed,  and  artists,  when  draw- 
ing their  designs  from  the  manners  of  these  classes,  have 
failed  in  producing  pictures  equal  in  poetic  expression  to 
those  which  were  made  one  hundred  years  ago.  It  is 
apparent,  for  example,  that  the  ancient  straw  beehive, 
surrounded  by  its  swarm,  formerly  introduced  into  vign- 
ettes as  emblematical  of  industry,  is  decidedly  picturesque  ; 
while  the  modern  patent  structures,  constructed  for  pur- 
poses of  economy,  would,  in  fanciful  engravings,  excite 
ideas  no  more  poetical  than  we  should  find  in  a  modern 
revolving  churn.  Modern  customs  and  improvements 
are  rapidly  sweeping  away  from  the  face  of  the  earth 
everything  that  is  poetic  or  picturesque.  It  may  be  urged, 
however,  that  the  sum  of  human  happiness  has  been  pro- 
portionally increased.  This  I  am  inclined  to  doubt ;  and 
to  maintain,  on  the  contrary,  that  just  in  proportion  as 
we  depart  from  the  simple  habits  of  the  early  era  of  civ- 
ilization, do  we  create  wants  that  cannot  be  gratified,  and 
lose  those  tastes  which  are  most  promotive  of  happiness 
and  in  harmony  with  the  designs  of  nature  and  of  provi- 
dence. 


JUNE. 

Already  do  we  feel  the  influence  of  a  more  genial 
sky;  a  maturer  verdure  gleams  from  every  part  of  the 
landscape,  and  a  prouder  assemblage  of  wild-flowers  re- 
minds us  of  the  arrival  of  summer.  The  balmy  south- 
west reigns  the  undisturbed  monarch  of  the  weather  ;  the 
chill  breezes  rest  quietly  upon  the  serene  bosom  of  the 
deep ;  and  the  ocean,  as  tranquil  as  the  blue  canojyy  of 
heaven,  yields  itself  to  the  warm  influence  of  the  sum- 
mer sun,  as  if  it  were  conscious  of  the  blessing  of  his 
beams.  The  sun  rides,  like  a  proud  conqueror,  over  three 
quarters  of  the  heavens,  and,  as  if  delighted  with  his 
victory  over  the  darkness,  smiles  with  unwonted  com- 
placency upon  the  beautiful  things  which  are  rejoicing 
in  his  presence.  Twilight  refuses  to  leave  the  brows  of 
night,  and  her  morning  and  evening  rays  meet  and  blend 
together  at  midnight  beneath  the  polar  sphere.  She 
twines  her  celestial  rosy  wreaths  around  the  bosoms  of 
the  clouds,  that  rival  in  beauty  the  terrestrial  garlands  of 
summer.  The  earth  and  the  sky  seem  to  emulate  each 
other  in  their  attempts  to  beautify  the  temples  of  nature 
and  of  the  Deity;  and  while  the  one  hangs  out  her  dra- 
pery of  silver  and  vermilion  over  the  sapphirine  arches 
of  the  firmament,  the  other  spangles  the  green  plains 
and  mountains  with  living  gems  of  every  hue,  and  crowns 
the  whole  landscape  with  lilies  and  roses. 

The  mornings  and  evenings  have  acquired  a  delightful 
temperature,  that  invites  us  to  rise  prematurely  from  our 
repose,  to  enjoy  the  greater  luxury  of  the  balmy  breezes. 


148  JUNE. 

The  dews  hang  heavily  upon  the  herbage,  and  the  white 
frosts  have  gone  away  to  join  the  procession  of  the  chill 
autumnal  nights.     The  little  modest  spring  flowers  are 
half  hidden  beneath  the  prouder  foliage  of  the  flowers  of 
summer;  the  violets  can  hardly  look  upon  us  from  un- 
der the  broad  leaves  of  the  fern ;  and  the  anemones,  like 
some  little  unpretending  beauty  in  the  midst  of  a  glitter- 
ing crowd,  are  scarcely  observed  as  they  are  fast  fading 
beneath  the  shade  of  the  tall  shrubbery.    The  voice  of  the 
early  song-sparrow  and  the  tender  warbling  of  the  blue- 
bird are  but  faintly  audible  amidst  the  chorus  of  louder 
musicians;  the  myriads  of  piping  creatures  are  silent  in  the 
wet  places,  and  the  tree-frogs,  having  taken  up  their  song, 
make  a  constant  melodious  croaking,  after  nightfall,  from 
the  wooded  swamps.    The  summer  birds  have  all  arrived  ; 
their  warbling  resounds  from  every  nook  and  dell ;  thou- 
sands  of  their  nests   are  concealed  in  every  grove  and 
orchard,  among  the  branches  of  the  trees,  or  on  the  ground 
beneath  a  tuft  of  shrubbery ;  egg-shells,  of  various  hues, 
are  cast  out  of  their  nests,  and  the  callow  young  lie  in  the 
open  air,  exposed  to  the  tender  mercies  of   the  genial 
month  of  June. 

The  season  of  anticipation  has  passed  away ;  the  early 
month  of  fruition  has  come;  the  hopes  of  our  vernal 
morning  have  ripened  into  realities;  we  no  longer  look 
into  the  future  for  our  enjoyments,  but  we  revel  at  length 
in  all  those  pleasures  from  which  we  expected  to  derive 
a  perfect  satisfaction.  The  month  of  June  is  emblemati- 
cal of  the  period  of  life  that  immediately  succeeds  the 
departure  of  youth,  when  all  our  sources  of  enjoyment 
are  most  abundant,  and  our  capacity  for  higher  pleasure 
has  attained  maturity,  and  when  the  only  circumstance 
that  damps  our  feelings  is  the  absence  of  that  lightness 
of  heart  arising  from  a  hopeful  looking  forward  to  the 
future.     Our  manhood    and   our  summer   have    arrived, 


JUNE.  149 

but  our  youth  and  our  spring  have  gone  by;  and  though 
we  have  the  enjoyment  of  all  we  anticipated,  yet  with 
the  fruition  hope  begins  to  languish,  for  in  the  present 
exists  the  fulness  of  our  joys.  The  flowery  treasures, 
foretokened  by  the  first  blue  violet,  are  blooming  around 
us;  the  melodious  concert,  to  which  the  little  song-spar- 
row  warbled  a  sweet  prelude  in  March,  is  now  swelling 
from  a  full  band  of  songsters,  and  the  sweet  summer 
climate  that  was  harbored  by  an  occasional  south-wind 
has  arrived.  But  there  is  sadness  in  fruition.  With  all 
these  voluptuous  gales  and  woodland  minstrelsies,  we 
cannot  help  wishing  for  a  renewal  of  those  feelings  with 
which  we  greeted  the  first  early  flower  and  listened  to 
the  song  of  the  earliest  returning  bird. 

Nature  has  thus  nearly  equalized  our  happiness  in 
every  season.  When  our  actual  joys  are  least  abundant, 
fancy  is  near  at  hand,  to  supply  us  with  the  visions  of 
those  pleasures  of  which  we  cannot  enjoy  the  substance ; 
filling  our  souls  in  spring  with  the  hope  of  the  future, 
comforting  us  in  autumn  with  the  memory  of  the  past, 
and  amusing  us  in  winter  with  a  tranquil  retrospection 
of  the  whole  year  and  the  pleasant  watching  for  the 
dawn  of  another  spring. 

A  total  change  has  taken  place  in  the  aspect  of  the 
woods  since  the  middle  of  the  last  month.  The  light, 
yellowish  green  of  the  willows  and  thorns,  the  purple 
of  the  sumach,  and  the  various  hues  of  other  sprouting 
foliage  have  ripened  into  a  dark  uniform  verdure.  The 
grass,  as  it  waves  in  the  meadows,  gleams  like  the  bil- 
lows of  the  ocean;  and  the  glossy  surfaces  of  the  ripe 
leaves  of  the  trees,  as  they  tremble  in  the  wind,  glitter 
like  millions  of  imperfect  mirrors  in  the  light  of  the  sun. 
The  petals  of  the  fading  blossoms  are  flying  in  all  direc- 
tions, as  they  are  scattered  by  the  fluttering  gales,  and 
cover,  like  flakes  of   snow,  the  surface  of  the  orchards. 


150  JUNE. 

The  flowers  of  innumerable  forest-trees  are  in  a  state  of 
maturity,  and  the  yellow  dust  from  their  flower-cups, 
scattered  widely  over  the  earth,  may  be  seen  after 
showers,  covering  the  edges  of  the  beds  of  dried  water- 
pools,  in  yellow  circular  streaks. 

The  pines  and  other  coniferous  trees  are  in  flower  dur- 
ing this  month ;  and  the  golden  hues  of  their  blossoms 
contrast  beautifully  with  the  deep  verdure  of  their  foliage. 
These  trees,  like  others,  shed  their  leaves  in  autumn ;  but 
it  is  the  foliage  of  the  preceding  year  that  falls,  leaving 
that  of  the  last  summer  still  upon  the  trees.  This  foliage 
is  very  slowly  perishable,  and  covers  the  earth  where  it 
falls,  during  all  the  year,  with  that  brown,  smooth,  and 
fragrant  carpet,  which  is  characteristic  of  a  pine  wood. 
Among  the  flowers  which  are  conspicuous  on  this  brown 
matted  foliage  is  the  purple  lady's-slipper,  whose  inflated 
blossoms  often  burst  upon  the  sight  of  the  rambler,  as  if 
they  had  risen  up  by  enchantment.  In  similar  haunts 
the  trientalis,  unrivalled  in  the  peculiar  delicacy  of  its 
flowers,  that  issue  from  a  single  whorl  of  pointed  leaves, 
supported  upon  a  tall  and  slender  footstalk,  never  fails 
to  attract  the  attention  of  the  botanist  and  the  lover  of 
nature. 

Our  gardens,  during  the  first  of  this  month,  exhibit  few 
exotics  more  beautiful  than  the  Canadian  rhodora,  an  in- 
digenous shrub,  which  is  at  this  time  in  full  flower  in  the 
wild  pastures.  It  is  from  two  to  five  feet  in  height,  and 
its  brilliant  purple  flowers,  unrivalled  in  delicacy,  appear 
on  the  extremities  of  the  branches,  when  the  leaves  are 
just  beginning  to  unfold.  It  is  rendered  singularly  attrac- 
tive by  the  contrast  between  its  purple  hues,  of  peculiar 
resplendency,  and  the  whiteness  of  the  flowers  of  almost 
all  other  shrubs,  at  this  season.  This  plant,  by  its  flower- 
ing, marks  the  commencement  of  summer,  and  may  be 
considered  an  apt  symbol  of  the  brilliant  month  of  June. 


JUNE.  151 

June  is  the  month  of  the  arethusas, —  tho.se  charming 
flowers  of  the  peat-meadows,  —  belonging  to  a  tribe  that 

is  too  delicate  for  cultivation.  Like  the  beautiful  birds. 
of  the  forest,  they  were  created  for  Nature's  own  temples  ; 
and  the  divinities  of  the  wood,  under  whose  invisible 
protection  they  thrive,  will  not  permit  them  to  join  with 
the  multitude  that  grace  the  parterre.  The  cymbidium, 
of  a  similar  habit,  the  queen  of  the  meadows,  with  larger 
flowers  and  more  numerous  clusters;  the  crimson  orchis, 
that  springs  up  by  the  river-sides,  among  the  myrtle-like 
foliage  of  the  cranberry  and  the  nodding  panicles  of 
the  quaking-grass,  like  a  spire  of  living  flame ;  and  the 
still  more  rare  and  delicate  white  orchis,  that,  hidden  in 
deep  mossy  dells  in  the  woods,  seldom  feels  the  direct  light 
of  the  sun,  —  are  all  alike  consecrated  to  solitude  and  to 
Nature,  as  if  they  were  designed  to  cheer  the  hearts  of  her 
humble  votaries  with  the  sight  of  a  thing  of  beauty  that 
has  not  been  appropriated  for  the  exclusive  adornment  of 
the  garden  and  the  palace. 

The  rambler  may  already  perceive  a  difference  in  the 
characters  of  the  flowers  of  this  month  and  of  the  last. 
In  May  the  prominent  colors  were  white  and  the  lighter 
shades  of  purple  and  lilac,  in  which  the  latter  were  but 
faintly  blended.  In  June  the  purple  shades  predominate 
in  the  flowers,  except  those  of  the  shrubs,  which  are 
mostly  white.  The  scarlet  hues  are  seldom  seen  until 
after  midsummer.  The  yellows  seem  to  be  confined  to 
no  particular  season,  being  conspicuous  in  the  dandelion, 
ranunculus,  and  coltsfoot  of  spring;  in  the  potentilla, 
the  senecio,  and  the  loosestrife  of  summer;  and  in  the 
sunflower,  golden-rod,  and  many  other  tribes  of  autumn. 
Blue  is  slightly  sprinkled  through  all  the  seasons. 

One  of  the  most  charming  appearances  of  the  present 
month,  to  one  who  is  accustomed  to  the  minute  obser- 
vation of  Nature's  works,  is  the  flowering  of  the  gras 


152  JUNE. 

Though  this  extensive  tribe  of  plants  is  remarkable  in 
no  instances  for  the  brilliancy  of  its  flowers,  yet  there 
are  few  that  exhibit  more  beauty  in  their  aggregations ; 
some  rearing  their  flowers  in  a  compact  head,  like  the 
herd's-grass  and  the  foxtail;  others  spreading  them  out 
in  an  erect  panicle,  like  a  tree,  as  the  orchard-grass  and 
the  common  redtop ;  others  appearing  with  a  bristling- 
head,  like  wheat  and  barley;  and  a  countless  variety 
of  species,  with  nodding  panicles,  like  the  oat  and  the 
quaking-grass.  The  greater  number  of  the  gramineous 
plants  are  in  flower  at  the  present  time,  and  there  are 
no  other  species,  save  the  flowerless  plants,  which  afford 
more  attractions  to  those  who  examine  nature  with  the 
discriminating  eye  of  science. 

He  who  is  accustomed  to  rambling  is  now  keenly  sen- 
sible of  that  community  of  property  in  nature,  of  which 
he  cannot  be  deprived.  The  air  of  heaven  belongs  equal- 
ly to  all,  and  cannot  be  monopolized;  but  the  land  is 
apportioned  into  tracts  belonging  to  different  owners,  and 
the  many  perhaps  do  not  own  a  rood.  Yet  to  a  certain 
extent,  and  in  a  very  important  sense,  the  earth,  the 
trees,  the  flowers,  and  the  landscape  are  common  prop- 
erty. He  who  owns  a  fine  garden  possesses  but  little 
advantage  over  him  who  is  without  one.  We  are  all 
free  in  this  country  to  roam  over  the  wide  fields  and 
pastures ;  we  can  eat  of  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  and 
feast  our  eyes  on  the  beauties  of  nature,  as  well  as  the 
owner  of  the  largest  domain.  A  man  is  not  poor  who, 
while  he  obtains  the  comforts  of  life,  is  thus  capable  of 
enjoying  the  blessings  of  nature.  His  property  is  not 
circumscribed  by  fences  and  boundary  lines.  All  the 
earth  is  his  garden,  —  cultivated  without  expense  and 
enjoyed  without  anxiety.  He  partakes  of  these  bounties 
which  cannot  be  confined  to  a  legal  possessor,  and  which 
Providence,  as  a  compensation  to  those  who  are  worn  with 


JUNE.  153 

toil  or  harassed  with  care,  spreads  out  to  gladden  them 
with  renewed  hopes  and  to  warm  their  hearts  with  -nui- 
tude  and  benevolence. 

June  is,  of  all  months  of  the  year,  the  most  delightful 
period  of  woodland  minstrelsy.  With  the  early  birds 
that  still  continue  their  warbling,  the  summer  birds  have 
joined  their  louder  and  more  melodious  strains.  Early 
in  the  morning,  when  the  purple  light  of  dawn  first 
awakens  us  from  sleep,  and  while  the  red  rays  that 
fringe  the  eastern  arches  of  the  sky  with  a  beautiful  trem- 
ulous motion  are  fast  brightening  into  a  more  dazzling 
radiance,  we  hear  from  the  feathered  tribe  the  commence- 
ment of  their  general  hymn  of  gladness.  There  is  first 
an  occasional  twittering,  then  a  single  performance  from 
some  early  wraker,  then  a  gradual  joining  of  new  voices, 
until  at  length  there  is  a  full  chorus  of  song.  Every  few 
minutes  some  new  voice  joins  in  the  concert,  as  if  aroused 
by  the  beginners  and  excited  by  emulation,  until  thou- 
sands of  melodious  voices  seem  to  be  calling  us  out  from 
sleep  to  the  enjoyment  of  life  and  liberty. 

After  the  sun  has  risen  nearly  to  meridian  height,  the 
greater  number  of  the  birds  that  helped  to  swell  the  an- 
them of  morn  discontinue  their  songs,  and  a  comparative 
silence  prevails  during  the  heat  of  the  day.  The  vireo, 
however,  warbles  incessantly,  at  all  hours  of  daylight, 
from  the  lofty  tree-tops  in  the  heart  of  the  villages ;  the 
oriole  is  still  piping  at  intervals  among  the  blossoms  of 
the  fruit-trees  ;  and  the  merry  bobolink  never  tires  durii] 
the  heat  of  the  day,  while  singing  and  chattering,  as  in 
ecstasy,  above  and  around  the  sitting-place  of  his  wedded 
mate.  At  the  hour  of  the  sun's  decline  the  birds  renew 
their  songs;  but  the  more  familiar  species  that  linger 
about  our  orchards  and  gardens  are  far  lc^s  musical  at 
sunset  than  at  sunrise.     I  suppose  they  may  be  annoy.. I 

by  the  presence  of  men,  who  are  more  accustomed  t<»  bo 

7* 


154  JUNE. 

out  at  a  late  hour  in  the  evening  than  at  an  early  hour 
in  the  morning. 

The  hour  preceding  dusk  in  the  evening,  however,  is 
the  time  when  the  thrushes,  the  most  musical  of  birds, 
are  loudest  in  their  song.    Several  different  species  of  this 
tribe  of  musicians,  at  a  late  hour,  are  almost  the  sole  per- 
formers.    The  catbird,  with  a  strain  somewhat  similar  to 
that  of  the  robin,  less  melodious,  but  more  varied  and 
quaint  in  its  expression,  is  then  warbling  in  those  places 
where   the   orchards   and   the    wildwood   meet   and   are 
blended  together.     The  red-thrush,  a  bird  still  more  re- 
tired in  its  habits,  takes  his  station  upon  a  tree  that  stands 
apart  from  the  wood,  and  there  pours  forth  his  loud  and 
varied  song,  which  may  be  heard  above  every  other  note. 
A  little  deeper  in  the  woods,  near  the  borders  of  streams, 
the  veeries,  the  last  to  become  silent,  may  be  heard  re- 
sponding to  one  another,  with  their  trilled  and  exquisite 
notes,  unsurpassed  in  melody  and  expression,  from  the 
sun's  early  decline  until  the  purple  of  twilight  has  nearly 
departed.     During  all  this  time  and  the  greater  part  of 
the  day,  in  the  solemn  depths  of  the  forest,  where  almost 
all  other  singing-birds  are  strangers,  resounds  the  distinct, 
peculiar,  and  almost  unearthly  warbling  of   the  hermit- 
thrush,  who  recites  his  different  strains  with  such  long 
pauses'  and  with  such  a  varied  modulation  that  they  might 
be  mistaken  for  the  notes  of  several  different  birds. 

At  nightfall,  though  the  air  is  no  longer  resonant  with 
song,  our  ears  are  greeted  with  a  variety  of  pleasing  and 
romantic  sounds,  'in  the  still  darkness,  apart  from  the 
village  hum,  may  be  heard  the  frequent  fluttering  of  the 
wings  of  night  birds,  when  the  general  silence  permits 
their  musical  vibrations  to  resound  distinctly  from  differ- 
ent distances,  during  their  short,  mysterious  flights.  These 
sounds,  to  which  I  used  to  listen  with  ravishment  in  my 
early  days,  are  more  suggestive  than  music,  and  always 


JUNE.  1 


00 


.come  to  my  remembrance,  as  one  of  the  delightful  things 
connected  with  a  summer  evening  in  the  country.  At 
the  same  time,  in  my  rambles  after  sunset,  I  have  often 
paused  to  hear  the  responsive  chirping  of  the  snipes,  in 
the  open  plains,  during  their  season  of  courtship ;  and  to 
watch  their  occasional  whirling  flight,  as  with  whistling 
wings  they  soar  like  the  lark  into  the  skies,  to  meet  and 
warble  together,  above  the  darkness  that  envelops  the 
earth.  With  the  same  whirling  flight,  they  soon  descend 
to  the  ground,  and  commence  anew  their  responsive 
chirping.  These  alternate  visits  to  the  earth  and  the 
sky  are  continued  for  several  hours.  There  is  nothing 
very  musical  in  the  chirping  of  these  birds ;  and  their 
warbling  in  the  heavens,  when  they  have  reached  the 
summit  of  their  ascent,  is  only  a  somewhat  monotonous 
succession  of  sounds.  But  when,  at  this  later  time  of 
life,  I  chance  to  hear  a  repetition  of  their  notes,  the  whole 
bright  page  of  youthful  adventure  is  placed  vividly  before 
my  mind.  It  is  only  at  such  times  that  we  feel  the  full 
influence  of  certain  sounds  of  nature  in  hallo  win  2:  the 
period  of  manhood  with  a  recollection  of  early  pleasures 
and  a  renewal  of  those  feelings  that  come  upon  the  soul 
like  a  fresh  breeze  and  the  sound  of  gurgling  waters  to 
the  weary  and  thirsty  traveller. 

The  evenings  are  now  so  delightful  that  it  seems  like 
imprisonment  to  remain  within  doors.  Odors,  sights,  and 
sounds  are  at  present  so  grateful  and  tranquillizing  in  their 
effects  upon  the  mind,  and  so  suggestive  of  all  the  bright 
period  of  youth,  that  they  cannot  be  regarded  as  the  mere 
pleasures  of  sense.  The  sweet  emanations  from  beds  of 
ripening  strawberries,  from  plats  of  pinks  and  violets, 
from  groves  of  flowering  linden-trees,  full  of  myriads  of 
humming  insects,  from  meadows  odoriferous  with  clover 
and  sweet-scented  grasses,  all  wafted  in  succession  with 
every  little   shifting  of  the  wind,  breathe  upon   us   an 


156  JUNE. 

endless  variety  of  fragrance.  Then  the  perfect  velvety 
softness  of  the  evening  air;  the  various  melodies  that  come 
from  every  nook,  tree,  rock,  dell,  and  fountain ;  the  notes 
of  birds,  the  chirping  of  insects,  the  hum  of  bees, -the 
rustling  of  aspen  leaves,  the  bubbling  of  fountains,  the 
dashing  of  waves  and  waterfalls,  and  the  many  beautiful 
things  that  greet  our  vision  from  earth,  sea,  and  sky,  — 
all  unite,  as  it  were,  to  yield  to  mortals  who  hope  for 
immortality  a  foretaste  of  the  unspeakable  joys  of  para- 
dise. 


PLEA  FOE   THE   BIRDS. 

In  the  beginning,  according  to  the  testimony  of  the 
"  Wisdom  of  Solomon,"  all  things  were  ordered  in  meas- 
ure, number,  and  weight.  The  universe  was  balanced 
according  to  a  law  of  harmony  no  less  wise  than  beau- 
tiful. There  was  no  deficiency  in  one  part  or  superfluity 
in  another.  As  time  was  divided  into  seasons  and  days 
and  years,  the  material  world  was  arranged  in  such  a 
manner  that  there  should  be  a  mutual  dependence  of  one 
kingdom  upon  another.  Nothing  was  created  without  a 
purpose,  and  all  living  things  were  supplied  with  such 
instincts  and  appetites  as  would  lead  them  to  assist  in 
the  great  work  of  progression.  The  kingdoms  of  nature 
must  ever  remain  thus  perfectly  adjusted,  except  for  the 
interference  of  man.  He  alone,  of  all  living  creatures, 
has  power  to  turn  the  operations  of  nature  out  of  their 
proper  course.  He  alone  is  able  to  transform  her  hills 
into  fortifications  and  to  degrade  her  rivers  to  commercial 
servitude.  Yet,  while  he  is  thus  employed  in  revolu- 
tionizing the  surface  of  the  earth,  he  might  still  work 
in  harmony  with  nature's  designs,  and  end  in  making  it 
more  beautiful  and  more  bountiful  than  in  its  pristine 
condition. 

In  the  wilderness  we  find  a  certain  adjustment  of  the 
various  tribes  of  plants,  birds,  insects,  and  quadrupeds, 
differing  widely  from  that  which  prevails  over  a  large 
extent  of  cultivated  territory.  In  the  latter,  new  tribes 
of  plants  are  introduced  by  art,  and  nature,  working  in 
harmony  with  man,  introduces  corresponding  tribes   oi 


158  PLEA   FOR   THE   BIRDS. 

insects,  birds,  and  quadrupeds.  Man  may  with  impunity 
make  a  change  of  the  vegetable  productions,  if  he  but  al- 
lows a  certain  freedom  to  Nature  in  her  efforts  to  supply 
the  balance  which  he  has  disturbed.  While  man  is  em- 
ployed in  restocking  the  earth  with  trees  and  vegetables, 
Nature  endeavors  to  preserve  her  harmony  by  a  new  sup- 
ply of  birds  and  insects.  A  superabundance  of  either 
might  be  fatal  to  certain  tribes  of  plants.  I  believe  the 
insect  races  to  be  as  needful  in  the  order  of  creation  as  any 
other  part  of  Nature's  works.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
that  innumerable  host  of  plants  denominated  weeds.  But 
while  man  is  endeavoring  to  keep  down  superfluities,  he 
may,  by  working  blindly,  cause  the  very  evil  he  designs 
to  prevent.  It  is  not  easy  to  check  the  multiplication  of 
weeds  and  insects.  These,  in  spite  of  all  direct  efforts  to 
check  them,  will  increase  beyond  their  just  mean.  This 
calamity  would  not  happen  if  we  took  pains  to  preserve 
the  feathered  tribes,  which  are  the  natural  checks  to  the 
multiplication  of  insects  and  weeds.  Birds  are  easily 
destroyed :  some  species,  indeed,  are  already  nearly  exter- 
minated ;  and  all  are  kept  down  to  such  a  limit  as  to 
bear  no  just  proportion  to  the  quantity  of  insects  that 
supply  them  with  food. 

Although  birds  are  great  favorites  with  man,  there  are 
no  animals,  if  we  except  the  vermin  that  infest  our  dwell- 
ings, that  suffer  such  unremitted  persecution.  They  are 
everywhere  destroyed,  either  for  the  table  or  for  the 
pleasure  of  the  chase.  As  soon  as  a  boy  can  shoulder  a 
gun,  he  goes  out,  day  after  day,  in  his  warfare  of  exter- 
mination against  the  feathered  race.  He  spares  the 
birds  at  no  season  and  in  no  situation.  While  thus 
employed,  he  is  encouraged  by  older  persons,  as  if  he 
were  ridding  the  earth  of  a  pest.  Thus  do  men  promote 
the  destruction  of  one  of  the  blessed  gifts  of  Nature. 

If  there  be  proof  that  any  race  of  animals  was  ere- 


PLEA   FOR   THE   BIRDS.  159 

ated  for  the  particular  benefit  of  mankind,  this  may  cer- 
tainly be  said  of  birds.     Men  in  general  are  not  apt  to 

consider  how  greatly  the  sum  of  human  happiness  is  in- 
creased by  certain  circumstances  of  which  they  take  but 
little  note.  There  are  not  many  who  are  in  the  habit  of 
going  out  of  their  way  or  pausing  often  from  their  labors 
to  hear  the  song  of  a  bird  or  to  examine  the  beauty  of  a 
flower.  Yet  the  most  indifferent  would  soon  experience 
a  painful  emotion  of  solitude,  were  the  feathered  race  to 
be  suddenly  annihilated,  or  were  vegetation  to  be  deprived 
of  everything  but  its  leaves  and  fruit.  Though  we  may 
be  accustomed  to  regard  these  things  as  insignificant  tri- 
fles, we  are  all  agreeably  affected  by  them.  Let  him 
who  thinks  he  despises  a  bird  or  a  flower  be  suddenly 
cast  ashore  upon  some  desert  island,  and  after  a  lonely 
residence  there  for  a  season,  let  one  of  our  familiar  birds 
greet  him  with  a  few  of  its  old  accustomed  notes,  or  a 
little  flower  peep  out  upon  him  with  the  same  look  which 
has  often  greeted  him  by  the  wayside  in  his  own  coun- 
try, and  how  gladly  would  he  confess  their  influence  upon 
his  mind ! 

But  there  is  a  great  deal  of  affectation  of  indifference 
toward  these  objects  that  is  not  real.  Children  are 
delighted  with  birds  and  flowers;  women,  who  have  in 
general  more  culture  than  men,  are  no  less  delighted 
with  them.  It  is  a  common  weakness  of  men  who  are 
ambitious  to  seem  above  everything  that  pleases  women 
and  children  to  affect  to  despise  the  singing  of  a  bird  and 
the  beauty  of  a  flower.  But  even  those  who  affect  this 
indifference  are  not  wholly  deaf  or  blind.  They  are  merely 
ignorant  of  the  influence  upon  their  own  minds  of  some 
of  the  chief  sources  of  our  pleasures. 

It  is  not  entirely  on  account  of  their  song,  their  beauty, 
and  their  interesting  habits,  that  we  set  so  high  a  value 
upon  the  feathered  tribes.     They  are  important  in  the 


160  PLEA  FOR   THE   BIRDS. 

general  economy  of  Nature,  without  which  the  operation 
of  her  laws  would  be  disturbed,  and  the  parts  in  the 
general  harmony  would  be  incomplete.  As  the  annihila- 
tion of  a  planet  would  produce  disturbance  in  the  motions 
of  the  spheres,  and  throw  the  celestial  worlds  out  of  their 
balance,  so  would  the  destruction  of  any  species  of  birds 
create  confusion  among  terrestrial  things.  Birds  are  the 
chief  and  almost  the  only  instruments  employed  by  Na- 
ture for  checking  the  multiplication  of  insects  which  other- 
wise would  spread  devastation  over  the  whole  earth.  They 
are  always  busy  in  their  great  work,  emigrating  from 
place  to  place,  as  the  changes  of  the  seasons  cut  off  their 
supplies  in  one  country  and  raise  them  up  in  another. 
Some,  like  the  swallow  tribe,  seize  them  on  the  wing, 
sailing  along  the  air  with  the  velocity  of  the  winds,  and 
preserving  it  from  any  excess  of  the  minute  species  of 
atmospheric  insects.  Others,  like  the  creepers  and  wood- 
peckers, penetrate  into  the  wood  and  bark  of  trees,  and 
dislodge  the  larvae  before  they  emerge  into  the  open  air. 
Beside  these  birds  that  do  their  work  by  day,  there  are 
others,  like  the  whippoorwill  tribe,  that  keep  their  watch 
by  night,  and  check  the  multiplication  of  moths,  beetles, 
and  other  nocturnal  insects. 

Man  alone,  as  I  have  before  remarked,  can  seriously 
disturb  the  operations  of  Nature.  It  is  he  who  turns  the 
rivers  from  their  courses,  and  makes  the  little  gurgling 
streams  tributary  to  the  sluggish  canal.  He  destroys 
the  forests,  and  exterminates  the  birds  after  depriving 
them  of  their  homes.  But  the  insects,  whose  extreme 
minuteness  renders  them  unassailable  by  his  weapons, 
he  cannot  destroy,  and  Nature  allows  them  to  multiply 
and  become  a  scourge  to  him,  as  if  in  just  retribution 
for  his  cruelty  to  the  feathered  races  who  are  his  bene- 
factors. 

In  the  native  wilderness,  where  man  has  not  interfered 


PLEA   FOR   THE   BIRDS.  1G1 

with  the  harmonious  operations  of  Nature,  the  insects  are 
kept  down  to  a  point  at  which  their  numbers  are  not 
sufficient  to  commit  any  perceptible  ravages.  The  birds, 
their  natural  destroyers,  are  allowed  to  live,  and  their 
numbers  keep  pace  with  the  insects  they  devour.  In  cul- 
tivated tracts,  on  the  contrary,  a  different  state  of  thin 
exists.  Man  has  destroyed  the  forests,  and  raised  up 
gardens  and  orchards  in  their  place.  The  wild  pasture 
has  become  arable  meadow,  and  the  whortleberry  grounds 
have  been  changed  into  cornfields.  New  races  of  beetles 
and  other  insects,  which  are  attached  to  the  cultivated 
vegetables,  increase  and  multiply  in  the  same  proportion. 
If  man  would  permit,  the  birds  that  feed  upon  these  in- 
sects would  keep  pace  with  their  increase,  and  prevent 
the  damage  they  cause  to  vegetation.  But,  too  avaricious 
to  allow  the  birds  to  live,  lest  they  should  plunder  fruit 
enough  to  pay  them  the  wages  for  their  useful  labors,  he 
destroys  the  exterminator  of  vermin,  and  thus,  to  save  a 
little  of  his  fruit  from  the  birds,  he  sacrifices  his  orchards 
to  the  insects. 

If  any  species  of  birds  were  exterminated,  those  tribes 
of  insects  which  are  their  natural  food  would  become 
exceedingly  abundant.  Inasmuch  as  the  atmosphere,  if 
the  swallows  were  to  become  extinct,  would  be  rendered 
unfit  for  respiration,  by  an  increased  multitude  of  gnats 
and  smaller  insects ;  so,  were  the  sparrow  tribes  to  be- 
come extinct,  vegetation  would  immediately  suffer  from 
an  increase  of  caterpillars,  curculios,  and  other  pests  of 
our  orchards.  We  may  say  the  same  of  other  insects 
with  relation  to  other  birds.  It  is  therefore  plainly  i'«  ti- 
the interest  of  the  farmer  and  the  horticulturist  to  use  all 
means  for  the  preservation  of  birds  of  every  species. 
There  is  no  danger  likely  to  arise  from  their  excessive 
multiplication.  The  number  of  each  species  cannot  ex- 
ceed that  limit  beyond  which  they  could  not  be  supplied 


1G2  PLEA   FOR    THE    BIRDS. 

with  their  proper  and  natural  food.  Up  to  this  limit,  if 
they  were  preserved,  our  crops  would  be  effectually  se- 
cured from  the  ravages  of  insects.  The  country  would 
probably  support  double  the  present  number  of  every 
species  of  birds,  which  are  kept  down  below  their  proper 
limits  by  accident,  by  the  gun  of  the  sportsman,  and  by 
the  mischievous  cruelty  of  boys. 

Most  of  the  smaller  kinds  of  birds  have  a  disposition 
to  cono-reoate  around  our  Villages.  We  seldom  find  a 
robin  or  a  sparrow,  during  breeding-time,  in  the  deep 
forest.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  insects  that  serve 
them  for  food.  There  are  certain  tribes  that  chiefly  fre- 
quent  the  wild  woods ;  these  are  the  prey  of  woodpeckers 
and  their  kindred  species.  There  are  others  which  are 
abundant  chiefly  in  our  orchards  and  gardens ;  these  are 
the  prey  of  bluebirds,  sparrows,  wrens,  and  other  common 
and  familiar  birds. 

Man  has  the  power  to  diminish  the  multitudes  of  in- 
sects that  desolate  the  forests  and  destroy  his  harvests ; 
but  this  can  be  effected  only  by  preserving  the  birds;  and 
Nature  has  endowed  them  with  an  instinct  that  leads 
them  to  congregate  about  his  habitations,  as  if  she  de- 
signed  them  to  protect  him  from  the  scourge  of  noxious 
vermin,  and  to  charm  his  ears  by  the  melody  of  their 
songs.  Hence  every  tract  which  is  inhabited  by  man  is 
furnished  with  its  native  singing-bird,  and  man  is  endowed 
with  a  sensibility  that  renders  the  harmony  of  sounds 
necessary  to  his  happiness.  The  warbling  of  birds  is  in- 
timately associated  with  everything  that  is  beautiful  in 
nature.  It  is  allied  with  the  dawn  of  morning,  the  sultry 
quiet  of  noon,  and  the  pleasant  hush  of  evening.  There 
is  not  a  cottage  in  the  wilderness  whose  inmates  do  not 
look  upon  the  birds  as  the  chief  instruments  of  Nature  to 
inspire  them  with  contentment  in  their  solitude.  With- 
out their  merry  voices,  the  silence  of  the  groves,  unbroken 


PLEA  FOR   THE   BIRDS.  1G3 

save  by  the  moaning  of  the  winds,  would  be  oppressive ; 
the  fields  would  lose  half  their  cheerfulness,  and  the  for- 
est would  seem  the  very  abode  of  melancholy.  Then  let 
our  arms,  designed  only  for  self-defence,  no  longer  spread 
destruction  over  the  plains  ;  let  the  sound  of  musketry  no 
longer  blend  its  discord  with  the  voices  of  the  birds,  that 
they  may  gather  about  our  habitations  with  confidence, 
and  find  in  man,  for  whose  pleasure  they  sing  and  for 
whose  benefit  they  toil,  a  friend  and  a  protector. 


BIEDS   OF   THE  PASTURE  AND   FOEEST. 

II. 

THE  HERMIT-THRUSH. 

The  bird  whose  song  I  describe  in  this  essay  has 
always  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  smallest  of  the  Thrushes. 
But  as  I  have  never  killed  any  bird  for  the  purpose 
of  learning  its  specific  characters,  I  am  liable  to  be  mis- 
taken in  many  points  of  identification.  It  has  been 
my  habit  from  my  earliest  years,  whenever  I  heard  a 
note  that  was  new  and  striking,  to  watch  day  after  day, 
until  I  discovered  the  songster,  and,  having  always  had 
excellent  sight,  I  have  never  used  a  telescope.  The  bird 
whose  notes  I  describe  below,  when  I  have  seen  it  upon 
a  tree  or  upon  the  ground,  has  seemed  to  conform  more 
nearly  to  the  description  given  in  books  of  the  Hermit- 
Thrush,  both  in  size  and  color,  than  to  that  given  of  the 
Wood-Thrush. 

The  notes  of  this  bird  are  not  startling  or  readily  dis- 
tinguished. Some  dull  ears  might  not  hear  them,  unless 
their  attention  was  directed  to  the  sounds.  They  are 
loud,  liquid,  and  sonorous,  and  they  fail  to  attract  atten- 
tion only  on  account  of  the  long  pauses  between  the  dif- 
ferent strains.  We  must  link  all  these  strains  together 
to  enjoy  the  full  pleasure  they  are  capable  of  affording, 
though  any  single  one  alone  would  entitle  the  bird  to 
considerable  reputation  as  a  songster.  He  also  sings  as 
much  at  broad  noonday  as  at  any  other  time,  differing  in 
this  respect  from  the  Yeery,  who  prefers  the  twilight  of 
morn  and  even.     In  another  important  respect  he  differs 


. 


■ 
■ 

.  i 

■ 
- 

- 


■ 
[ 

■ 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE  AND   FOREST.  L65 

from  the  Veery,  which  is  seldom  heard  except  in  swamps, 
while  the  Hermit  almost  invariably  occupies  high  and  dry 
woods. 

The  Hermit-Thrush  delights  in  a  shady  retreat ;  he  is 
indeed  a  true  anchorite;  he  is  evidently  inspired  by  soli- 
tude, and  sings  no  less  in  gloomy  weather  than  in  sun- 
shine. Yet  I  think  he  is  no  lover  of  twilisht,  though 
pleased  with  the  darkness  of  shady  wroods ;  for  at  the 
time  wdien  the  Veery  is  most  musical,  he  is  generally 
silent.  He  is  remarkable,  also,  for  prolonging  his  musical 
season  to  near  the  end  of  summer.  Late  in  August,  when 
other  birds  have  become  silent,  he  is  almost  the  only 
songster  in  the  wTood. 

The  song  of  the  Hermit  consists  of  several  different 
strains,  or  bars,  as  they  would  be  called  in  the  gamut.  I 
have  not  determined  the  exact  number,  but  I  am  confident 
there  are  seven  or  eight,  many  of  them  remarkable  for  the 
clearness  of  their  intonations.  After  each  strain  he  makes 
a  full  pause,  perhaps  not  more  than  three  or  four  second-, 
and  the  listener  must  be  very  attentive,  or  he  will  lose 
many  of  the  notes.  I  think  the  effect  of  this  sylvan  mu- 
sic is  somewhat  diminished  by  the  pauses  or  rests.  It 
may  be  said,  however,  that  during  each  pause  our  suscep- 
tibility is  increased,  and  we  are  thus  prepared  to  be  more 
deeply  affected  by  the  next  notes.  Some  of  these  are 
full  and  sonorous,  like  the  sound  of  a  fife ;  others  lisping. 
and  somewhat  like  the  chink  made  by  shaking  a  few  thin 
metallic  plates  in  your  hand.  This  lisping  strain  always 
comes  regularly  in  its  course.  I  can  imagine  that  if  all 
these  different  strains  were  warbled  continuously,  they 
would  not  be  equalled  by  the  song  of  any  bird  with  which 
I  am  acquainted. 

Some  parts  of  Nuttall's  description  of  the  song  of  the 
Hermit,  if  it  be  identical  with  the  species  called  by  him 
the  Song-Thrush,  are  incorrect.     It  is  not  true  that  his 


166  BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST. 

different  strains  or  those  of  the  Wood-Thrush    "finally 
blend  together  in  impressive  and  soothing  harmony,  be- 
coming  more   mellow   and   sweet  at   every   repetition." 
Any   one  strain   never  follows  another,  without  a  full 
pause  between  them.     I  think  Nuttall  has  described  the 
song  of  the  Veery,  mistaking  it  for  a  part  of  that  of  the 
Song-Thrush.     One  of  the  enunciations  which  he  attrib- 
utes to  the  Song-Thrush  is  equally  remarkable  and  cor- 
rect,    I  allude  to  "  the  sound  of  ai-ro-ce,  peculiarly  liquid, 
and  followed  by  a  trill."     The   song  invariably  begins 
with  a  clear  fife  sound,  as  too,  too,   tillere  Mere,  rising 
from  the  first  about  three  musical  tones  to  the  second, 
and  making  the  third  and  fourth  words  rather  sharp  and 
shrill.     We  seldom,  however,  hear  more  than  one  low 
note  in  a  strain,  as  too,  tillere  Mere  ;  afterwards,  beginning 
with  the  low  note  too,  follows  the  sound  of  ai-ro-ce,  like 
the  notes  of  the  common  chord.     The  fourth  bar  is  a  lisp- 
ing strain  resembling  the  sounds  made  by  shaking  thin 
metallic  plates  in  the  hand ;  the  fifth,  a  trilling  like  the 
notes  of  the  Veery,  —  tMMil,  tMMil,  tMMil,     There  are 
several   other  bars   consisting   of  a  slight   variation  of 
some  one  of  those  I  have  described.     I  have  not  been 
able  to  determine  the  order  in  which  the  several  strains 
succeed  one  another.     I  feel  confident,  however,  that  the 
bird  never  repeats  any  one  strain,  save  after  two  or  three 
others  have  intervened. 

The  Wood-Thrush  is  a  larger  bird  than  the  Hermit, 
more  common  in  our  woods,  having  a  similar  song,  con- 
taining fewer  strains,  delivered  with  less  precision  and 
moderation,  and  with  shorter,  intervals  between  the  high 
and  the  low  notes.  In  their  general  habits  the  two  spe- 
cies differ  very  slightly. 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST.  167 

THE  VEERY,  OR  WILSON'S   THRUSH. 

The  Veery  is  perceptibly  larger  than  the  Hermit,  and  is 
marked  in  a  similar  manner,  save  that  the  back  has  more 
of  an  olive  tinge.  He  arrives  early  in  May,  and  is  first 
heard  to  sing  during  some  part  of  the  second  week  of  that 
month.  He  is  not  one  of  our  familiar  birds ;  and  unless 
we  live  in  close  proximity  to  a  wood  that  is  haunted  by  a 
stream,  we  seldom  hear  his  voice  from  our  doors  and  win- 
dows. He  sings  neither  in  the  orchard  nor  the  garden. 
He  shuns  the  town,  and  reserves  his  wild  notes  for  those 
who  live  in  cottages  by  the  wToodside.  All  who  have 
once  become  familiar  with  his  song  await  his  arrival  witli 
impatience,  and  take  note  of  his  silence  in  midsummer 
with  regret.  Though  his  song  has  not  the  compass  and 
variety  of  that  of  the  Hermit,  it  is  more  continuous  and 
delivered  with  more  fervor.  Until  this  little  bird  arrives, 
I  feel  as  an  audience  do  at  a  concert  before  the  chief 
singer  appears,  while  the  other  performers  are  vainly  en- 
deavoring to  soothe  them  by  their  inferior  attempts. 

The  Veery  is  more  shy  than  any  other  important  singing- 
bird  except  the  Hermit.     His  haunts  are  solitary  woods, 
usually  in   the  vicinity  of  a  pond  or  a   stream.     II. av, 
especially  after  sunset,  he  warbles  his  few  brilliant  but 
plaintive  strains  with  a  peculiar   cadence,  and   (ills  the 
whole  forest  with  music.     It  seems  as  if  the  echoes  were 
delighted  with  his  notes,  and  took  pleasure   in  passing 
them  round  with  multiplied  reverberations.     I  am  confi- 
dent that  this  little  warbler  refrains  from  singing  when 
others  are  vocal,  from  the  pleasure  lie  feels  in  listenin 
either  to  his  own  notes  or  to  the  melodious  respons 
which  others  of  his  own  kindred  repeat  in  different  pari 
of  the  wrood.     Hence,  he  chooses  the  dusk  of  evening 
for  his  tuneful  hour,  when  the  little  chirping  bird-  a: 
silent,   that   their  voices  may  not   interrupt   his    chant 


168  BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE  AND   FOREST. 

At  this  hour,  during  a  period  of  nine  or  ten  weeks,  be 
charms  the  evening  with  his  strains,  and  often  prolongs 
them  in  still  weather  until  after  dusk,  and  whispers  them 
sweetly  into  the  ear  of  Night. 

His  sons:,  though  loud  for  so  small  a  bird,  is  modulated 
with  such  a  sweet  and  flowing  cadence  that  it  comes  to 
the  ear  like  a  strain  from  some  elfin  source.  It  seems 
at  first  to  be  wanting  in  variety.  I  formerly  thought 
so,  while  at  the  same  time  I  was  puzzled  to  account  for 
its  enchanting  effect  on  the  mind  of  the  listener.  The 
same  remark  may  be  applied  to  the  human  voice.  I 
suppose  I  am  not  the  only  person  who  can  remember 
certain  female  voices,  which,  with  limited  compass  and 
execution,  do,  by  a  peculiar  native  modulation,  combined 
with  great  simplicity,  affect  the  listener  with  emotions 
such  as  no  prima  donna  could  produce.  Having  never 
heard  the  Nightingale,  I  can  draw  no  comparison  between 
that  bird  and  the  Veery.  But  neither  the  Mocking-Bird, 
nor  any  other  bird  in  our  woods,  utters  a  single  strain  to 
be  compared  in  sweetness  and  expression  to  the  five  bars 
of  the  simple  song  of  the  Veery. 

"Were  we  to  attempt  to  perform  these  notes  upon  a 
musical  instrument,  we  should  fail  from  the  difficulty  of 
imitating  their  peculiar  trilling  and  the  liquid  ventrilo- 
quial  sounds  at  the  end  of  each  strain.  The  whole  is 
warbled  in  such  a  manner  as  to  produce  on  the  ear  the 
effect  of  harmony,  and  to  combine  in  a  remarkable  degree 
the  two  different  qualities  of  brilliancy  and  plaintiveness. 
The  former  effect  is  produced  by  the  first  notes  of  each 
strain,  which  are  sudden  and  on  a  high  key  ;  the  second 
by  the  graceful  chromatic  slide  to  the  termination,  which 
is  inimitable  and  exceedingly  solemn.  I  have  sometimes 
imagined  that  a  part  of  the  delightful  influence  of  these 
notes  mioht  be  ascribed  to  the  cloistered  recesses  in  which 
they  are  delivered.     But  I  have  occasionally  heard  them 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST.  169 

while  the  bird  was  singing  from  a  tree  near  the  heart  of 
a  village,  when  they  were  equally  delightful  and  impres- 
sive. 

In  my  early  days,  when  I  was  at  school,  I  lived  near 
a  grove  that  was  vocal  with  these  Thrushes.  It  was  there 
I  learned  to  love  their  song  more  than  any  other  sound 
in  nature,  and  above  the  finest  strains  of  artificial  music. 
Since  then  I  have  seldom  failed  to  make  frequent  visits 
to  their  habitats,  to  listen  to  their  notes,  which  cause  full 
half  the  pleasure  I  derive  from  a  summer  evening  ramble. 

Dr.  Brewer  does  not  so  highly  estimate  the  song  of  the 
Yeery,  but  Mr.  Eidgway  differs  from  him.  "  To  his  ear," 
says  Dr.  Brewer,  "  there  was  a  solemn  harmony  and  a 
beautiful  expression  which  combined  to  make  the  song 
of  this  bird  surpass  that  of  all  the  other  American  Wood- 
Thrushes."  I  have  found  the  nests  of  this  species  very 
near  the  ground,  also  upon  a  mound  of  grass  and  stick-, 
and  on  a  bush.     Their  eggs  are  of  a  greenish-blue. 


THE   CATBIRD. 

Fond  of  solitude,  but  not  averse  to  the  proximity  of 
human  dwellings,  if  the  primitiveness  of  some  of  the 
adjacent  wood  remains;  avoiding  the  deep  forest  and  the 
open  pastures,  and  selecting  for  his  habitat  the  edge  of  a 
wooded  swamp,  or  a  fragment  of  forest  near  the  low 
grounds  of  a  cultivated  field,  the  Catbird  may  be  seen 
whisking  among  the  thickets,  often  uttering  his  complain- 
ing mew,  like  the  cry  of  a  kitten.  Still,  though  attached 
to  these  wet  and  retired  situations,  he  is  often  very  famil- 
iar, and  is  not  silenced  by  our  presence,  like  the  \  eery. 
His  nest  of  drv  sticks  is  sometimes  woven  into  a  currant- 
bush  in  a  garden  that  adjoins  a  swamp,  and  his  quaint 
notes  may  be  heard,  as  if  totally  unmindful  of  the  near- 
ness of  his    human  foe.     The  Catbird  is  not  an  im    b- 

8 


170  BIRDS    OF    THE   PASTURE    AND   FOREST. 

erate  singer.  He  seldom  makes  music  liis  sole  employ- 
ment ;  though  at  any  hour  of  the  day,  from  dawn  till 
evening  twilight,  he  may  occasionally  be  heard  singing 
and  complaining. 

Though  I  have  been  all  my  life  familiar  with  the  notes 
and  manners  of  the  Catbird,  I  have  not  been  able  to 
discover  that  in  his  native  woods  he  is  a  mocker.  He 
seems  to  me  to  have  a  definite  song,  unlike  that  of  any 
other  songster,  except  the  Red-Thrush.  It  is  not  made 
up  from  the  notes  of  other  birds,  but  is  as  unique  and 
original  as  the  song  of  the  Robin  or  the  Linnet.  In  the 
song  of  any  bird  we  may  detect  occasional  strains  that 
resemble  those  of  some  other  species  ;  but  the  Catbird 
gives  no '  more  of  these  imitations  than  we  might  rea- 
sonably regard  as  accidental.  The  truth  is,  that  the 
Thrushes,  though  delightful  songsters,  have  inferior  pow- 
ers of  execution,  and  cannot  equal  the  Finches  in  learn- 
ing and  performing  the  notes  of  other  birds.  Even  the 
Blocking-Bird,  compared  with  many  other  species,  is  a 
very  imperfect  imitator  of  any  notes  which  are  rapid 
and  difficult  of  execution.  He  cannot  cive  the  son^  of 
the  Canary  ;  yet  I  have  heard  a  caged  Bobolink  do  this 
to  perfection. 

The  modulation  of  the  Catbird's  son^  is  somewhat 
similar  to  that  of  the  Pied-Thrush,  and  I  have  found  it 
sometimes  difficult  to  determine,  from  the  first  few  notes, 
wh ether  I  was  listening  to  the  one  or  the  other;  but  after 
a  moment  I  detected  one  of  those  quaint  utterances  that 
distinguish  the  notes  of  the  Catbird.  I  am  confident  that 
no  man  would  mistake  this  song  for  that  of  any  other 
species  except  the  Bed-Thrush ;  and  in  this  case  his  mis- 
take would  soon  be  corrected  by  longer  listening.  The 
Bed-Thrush  lias  a  louder  and  fuller  intonation,  more  notes 
that  resemble  speech,  or  that  may  be  likened  to  it,  and 
some  fine  guttural  tones  which  the  other  never  utters. 


BIRDS    OF    THE    PASTURE   AND    FOREST.  171 

I  repeat  that  I  have  not  any  proof,  from  my  own  obser- 
vation, that  the  Catbird  is  a  mocker.     Dr.  Brewer  says 

■ 

on  the  other  hand,  that  it  is  a  very  good  imitator  of  sim- 
ple notes  and  strains.  He  has  heard  it  give  excellent 
imitations  of  the  whistling  of  the  Quail,  the  clucking  of  a 
Hen,  the  notes  of  the  Pewee,  and  those  of  the  Ground- 
Robin,  repeating  them  with  such  exactness  as  to  deceive 
the  birds  that  were  imitated.  He  has  known  the  Catbird 
call  off  a  brood  of  young  chickens,  to  the  great  annoy- 
ance of  the  old  hen. 

The  Catbird  is  said  to  be  very  amusing  when  confined 
in  a  cage.  A  former  neighbor  of  mine,  who  has  reared 
many  birds  of  this  species  in  a  cage,  informed  me  that 
when  tamed  they  sing  better  than  in  their  native  woods. 
He  taught  them  not  only  to  imitate  the  notes  of  other 
birds,  but  to  sing  tunes.  This  is  an  important  fact ;  but 
we  must  confess  that  the  wild  birds  and  the  wild-flowers 
are  more  interesting  in  their  native  haunts  than  in  avi- 
aries or  conservatories.  Though  I  have  no  sensibility 
that  would  prevent  my  depriving  a  bird  of  its  freedom  1  >y 
placing  it  in  a  comfortable  prison,  where  it  would  suffer 
neither  in  mind  nor  body,  I  should  not  keep  one  in  a 
cage  for  my  own  amusement,  caring  but  little  to  watcli 
its  ways  except  in  a  state  of  freedom. 

The  mewing  note  of  the  Catbird,  from  which  his  name 
was  derived,  has  been  the  occasion  of  many  misfortunes 
to  his  species,  causing  them  to  share  that  contempt  which 
is  so  generally  felt  towards  the  feline  race ;  and  that  con- 
tempt has  been  followed  by  persecution.  The  Catbird 
has  always  been  proscribed  by  the  Xew  England  fanner-, 
who  from  the  first  settlement  of  the  country  have  enter- 
tained a  prejudice  against  the  most  useful  of  our  birds, 
which  are  also  the  most  mischievous.  Even  the  Robin  has 
been  frequently  in  danger  of  proscription.  The  horticul- 
turists, who  seem  to  consider  their  cherries  and  strawber- 


172  BIRDS    OF   THE   PASTURE   AND    FOREST. 

ries  and  favorite  insipid  pears  of  more  importance  than 
the  whole  agricultural  crop  of  the  States,  have  made  sev- 
eral efforts  to  obtain  an  edict  of  outlawry  against  him. 
These  repeated  onslaughts  have  induced  the  friends  of  the 
Eobin  to  examine  his  claims  to  protection,  and  the  result 
of  their  investigations  is  demonstrative  proof  that  it  is 
one  of  the  most  useful  birds  in  existence.  The  Catbird 
and  all  the  Thrushes  are  similar  to  the  Eobin  in  their 
habits  of  feeding,  but  are  not  sufficiently  numerous  to 
equal  it  in  the  extent  of  their  services. 

THE   RED-THRUSH. 

After  we  have  grown  tired  of  threading  our  way  through 
the  half-inundated  wood-paths  in  a  swamp  of  red-maple 
and  northern  cypress,  where  there  is  twilight  at  broad 
noonday,  and  where  the  only  sounds  we  hear  are  the 
occasional  sweet  notes  of  the  Veery,  now  and  then  a  few 
cpiaint  utterances  from  the  Catbird,  and  the  cawing  of 
Crows,  high  up  in  the  cedars,  we  emerge  into  the  upland 
under  the  bright  beams  of  noonday.  The  region  into 
which  we  enter  is  an  open  pasture  of  hill  and  dale,  more 
than  half  covered  with  wild  shrubbery,  and  displaying 
an  occasional  clump  of  trees.  There,  perched  upon  the 
middle  branch  of  some  tall  tree,  the  Eed-Thrush,  the 
rhapsodist  of  the  woods,  may  be  heard  pouring  forth  his 
loud  and  varied  sons*  often  continuing  it  without  cessation 
for  half  an  hour.  His  notes  do  not,  like  those  of  the 
Finches  and  many  other  birds,  have  a  beginning,  a  middle, 
a  turn,  and  a  close,  as  if  they  were  singing  the  words  of  a 
measured  hymn.  The  notes  of  the  Eed-Thrush  are  more 
like  a  voluntary  for  the  organ,  in  which,  though  there  is  a 
frequent  repetition  of  certain  strains,  the  close  of  the  per- 
formance comes  not  after  a  measured  number  of  notes. 

The  Eed-Thrush  has  many  habits  similar  to  those  of 


BIRDS   OF   THE  PASTURE   AND   FOREST.  173 

the  Catbird,  but  he  is  not  partial  to  low  grounds.  J  i  i  ■ 
prefers  the  dry  hill  and  upland,  and  those  places  which 
are  half  cleared,  and  seems  averse  to  deep  woods.  Still, 
though  less  of  a  hermit  than  the  Catbird,  he  is  also 
less  familiar.  He  dislikes  the  proximity  of  dwelling- 
houses,  and  courts  the  solitude  of  open  fields  and  dry 
hills  distant  from  the  town.  This  bird  probably  owes 
its  shyness  and  timidity  to  the  desperation  with  which 
the  species  have  been  hunted  by  men  who  are  unwilling 
that  the  birds  shall  take  any  pay  for  the  services  they 
perform ;  and  who,  to  save  a  dozen  cherries  from  a  bird, 
would  sacrifice  the  tree  to  mischievous  insects.  Modern 
civilized  society  bears  the  besom  of  a  devastation  greater 
than  the  world  has  yet  seen,  and  when  it  has  completed 
its  work,  and  destroyed  every  bird  and  animal  that  is 
capable  of  doing  any  service  to  agriculture,  man  will 
perish  too,  and  the  whole  earth  become  a  combined 
Sahara  and  wilderness  of  Mount  Auburns. 

The  Red-Thrush  builds  in  a  low  bush,  or  more  fre- 
quently upon  the  ground  under  a  bush.  I  think  he  sings 
at  some  distance  from  his  nest,  selecting  for  his  musical 
moments  the  branch  of  a  tree  that  projects  over  a  rustic 
roadside.  As  the  roadside  supplies  a  greater  abundance 
of  larvae  than  the  wild  pastures,  it  may  be  that  after  hav- 
ing taken  his  repast,  he  perches  near  the  place  where  lie 
obtained  it.  He  is  not  partial  to  any  certain  hour  for 
singing,  but  is  most  musical  in  fine  and  bright  weather. 
I  can  always  hear  him  where  he  dwells  in  the  vocal 
season,  morning,  noon,  and  evening.  When  employed 
in  song,  he  makes  it  his  exclusive  occupation,  and  sings, 
though  moderately,  with  uninterrupted  fervor.  In  this 
respect  he  is  distinguished  above  almost  all  other  species. 
I  have  observed,  however,  that  if  he  be  disturbed  while 
singing,  he  immediately  becomes  silent  and  may  not 
renew  his   soire;   under  an   hour. 


174  BIRDS    OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST. 

The  Bed-Thrush  is  considered  by  many  persons  the 
finest  songster  in  the  New  England  forest.  Nuttall  says 
"  he  is  inferior  only  to  the  Blocking-Bird  in  musical  tal- 
ent." I  doubt  his  inferiority  except  as  a  mocker.  He  is 
superior  to  the  Mocking-Bird  in  variety,  and  is  surpassed 
by  him  only  in  the  sweeter  intonations  of  some  of  his 
notes.  But  no  person  grows  tired  of  listening  to  the  Bed- 
Thrush,  who  constantly  varies  his  notes,  while  the  Mock- 
ing-Bird tires  us  with  his  repetitions,  which  are  often 
continued  to  a  ludicrous  extreme.  Perhaps  I  might  give 
the  palm  to  the  Mocking-Bird,  were  it  not  for  his  detesta- 
ble habit  of  imitation.  But  when  this  habit  is  considered, 
I  do,  without  hesitation,  place  the  Bed-Thrush  above  him 
as  a  songster,  and  above  every  other  bird  with  whose 
notes  I  am  acquainted.  If  I  were  listening  to  a  melo- 
dramatic performance,  in  which  all  were  perfect  singers 
and  actors,  I  should  prefer  the  prima  donna  to  the  clown, 
even  if  the  clown  occasionally  gave  a  good  imitation  of 

her  voice. 

When  we  are  in  a  thoughtful  mood,  the  song  of  the 
Yeery  surpasses  all  others  in  tranquillizing  the  mind  and 
yielding  something  like  enchantment  to  our  thoughts.  At 
other  times,  when  strolling  in  a  whortleberry  pasture,  it 
seems  to  me  that  nothing  can  exceed  the  simple  melody 
of  the  Wood-Sparrow.  But  without  claiming  for  the 
Bed-Thrush,  in  any  remarkable  degree,  the  plaintiveness 
that  distinguishes  these  pensive  warblers,  his  song  in  the 
open  field  lias  a  charm  for  all  ears,  and  can  be  appreciated 
by  the  dullest  of  minds.  Without  singing  badly  he 
pleases  the  millions.  He  is  vocal  at  all  hours  of  the  day, 
and  when  thus  employed,  devotes  himself  entirely  to  song 
with  evident  enthusiasm. 

It  would  be  difficult,  either  by  word  or  by  musical  nota- 
tion, to  give  to  one  who  has  not  heard  the  song  of  the 
Red-Thrush  a  correct  idea  of  it.     This  bird  is  not  a  rapid 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AXD   FOREST.  175 

singer.  His  performance  is  a  sort  of  recitative,  often  re- 
sembling spoken  words  rather  than  musical  notes,  many 
of  which  are  short  and  guttural.  He  seldom  whistles 
clearly,  like  the  Robin,  but  he  produces  a  charming  vari- 
ety of  tone  and  modulation.  Some  of  his  notes  are 
delivered  rapidly,  but  every  strain  is  followed  by  a  mo- 
mentary pause,  resembling  the  discourse  of  a  man  who 
speaks  fast,  but  hesitates  after  every  few  words.  He  is 
rapid,  but  not  voluble. 

An  ingenious  shoemaker,  named  Wallace,  whom  I  knew 
in  my  early  days,  and  who,  like  many  others  of  his  craft 
when  they  worked  alone  or  in  small  companies  in  their 
own  shops,  and  not  by  platoons  as  in  a  steam  factory,  was 
a  close  observer  of  nature  and  mankind,  gave  me  the 
following  words  as  those  repeated  by  the  Red-Thrush : 
"  Look  up,  look  up,  —  Glory  to  God,  glory  to  God,  — 
Hallelujah,  Amen,  Videlicet." 

Thoreau,  in  one  of  his  quaint  descriptions,  gives  an  off- 
hand sketch  of  the  bird,  which  I  will  quote :  "  Near  at 
hand,  upon  the  topmost  spray  of  a  birch,  sings  the  Brown - 
Thrasher,  or  Red  Mavis,  as  some  love  to  call  him,  —  all 
the  morning  glad  of  your  society  (or  rather  I  should  say 
of  your  lands),  that  would  find  out  another  farmer's  field 
if  yours  were  not  here.  While  you  are  planting  the  seed, 
he  cries,  '  Drop  it,  drop  it,  —  cover  it  up,  cover  it  up,  — 
pull  it  up,  pull  it  up,  pull  it  up.' " 

The  Red-Thrush  is  most  musical  in  the  early  part  of 
the  season,  or  in  the  month  succeeding  his  arrival  about  the 
middle  of  May ;  the  Yeery  is  most  vocal  in  June,  and  the 
Song-Thrush  in  July.  The  Catbird  begins  early  and 
sings  late,  and  fills  out  with  his  quaint  notes  the  re- 
mainder of  the  singing  season,  after  the  others,  save  the 
Song-Thrush,  have  become  silent. 


THE   FLOWERLESS   PLAXTS. 

As  a  tribe  of  vegetable  curiosities,  pleasantly  associated 
with  cool  grots,  damp  shady  woods,  rocks  rising  in  the 
midst  of  the  forest,  with  the  edges  of  fountains,  the  roofs 
of  old  houses,  and  the  trunks  and  decayed  branches  of 
trees,  may  be  named  the  flowerless  plants.  Few  persons 
know  the  extent  of  their  advantages  in  the  economy  of 
vegetation  ;  still  less  are  they  aware  how  greatly  they 
contribute  to  the  beauty  of  some  of  the  most  beautiful 
places  in  nature,  affording  tints  for  the  delicate  shading 
of  many  a  native  landscape,  and  an  embossment  for  the 
display  of  some  of  the  fairest  flowers  of  the  field.  The 
violet  and  the  anemone,  that  peep  out  upon  us  in  the 
opening  of  spring,  have  a  livelier  glow  and  animation 
when  embosomed  in  their  green  beds  of  moss ;  and 
the  arethusa  blushes  more  beautifully  by  the  side  of  the 
stream  when  overshadowed  by  the  broad  pennons  of  the 
umbrageous  fern.  The  old  tree  with  its  mosses  wears  a 
look  of  freshness  in  its  decay,  the  bald  rock  loses  its 
baldness  with  its  crown  of  lichens  and  ferns,  and  every 
barren  spot  in  the  pasture  or  by  the  wayside  is  enlivened 
and  variegated  by  the  carpet  of  flowerless  plants,  that 
spread  their  green  gloss  and  many-colored  fringes  over 
the  surface  of  the  soil. 

Mosses  enter  into  all  our  ideas  of  picturesque  ruins  ; 
for  they  alone  are  evidence  that  the  ruins  are  the  work 
of  time.  An  artificial  ruin  can  have  no  such  accompani- 
ment until  time  has  hallowed  it  by  veiling  its  surface 
with  these  memorials.     They  join  with  the  ivy  in  adorn- 


THE   FLOWERLESS   PLANTS.  177 

ing  the  relics  of  ancient  grandeur,  and  spread  over  the 
perishable  works  of  art  the  symbols  of  a  beauty  that  en- 
dureth  forever.  While  they  are  allied  to  ruins,  and  re- 
mind us  of  age  and  decay,  they  are  themselves  glowing 
in  the  freshness  of  youth,  and  cover  the  places  they  oc- 
cupy with  a  perpetual  verdure.  They  cluster  around  the 
decayed  objects  of  nature  and  art,  and  are  themselves  the 
nurseries  of  many  a  little  flower  that  depends  on  them  fur 
sustenance  and  protection.  Though  they  bear  no  flowers 
upon  their  stems,  they  delight  in  cherishing  in  their 
soft  velvet  knolls  the  wood-anemone,  the  houstonia,  the 
cypripedium,  and  the  white  orchis,  —  the  nun  of  the 
meadows,  —  whose  roots  are  imbedded  among  the  fibres 
of  the  peat-mosses,  and  derive  support  from  the  moisture 
that  is  accumulated  around  them.  Nature  has  provided 
them  as  a  shield  to  many  delicate  plants,  which,  em- 
bowered in  their  capillary  foliage,  are  enabled  to  sustain 
the  heat  of  summer  and  the  cold  of  winter,  and  re- 
main secure  from  the  browsing  herds. 

"Winter,  which  is  a  time  of  sleep  with  the  higher  vegeta- 
ble tribes,  is  a  season  of  activity  with  many  of  the  flower- 
less  plants.  There  are  certain  species  of  mosses  and  lichens 
that  vegetate  under  the  snow,  and  but  few  of  the  mosses 
are  at  all  injuriously  affected  by  the  action  of  frost.  By 
this  power  of  living  and  growing  in  winter,  they  are  fitted 
to  act  as  protectors  to  other  plants  from  the  vicissitudes 
of  winter  weather,  and  by  their  close  texture  they  prevent 
the  washing  away  of  the  soil  from  the  declivities  into  the 
valleys.  They  answer  the  double  purpose  of  catching  the 
floating  particles  of  dust  and  retaining  them  about  their 
roots,  and  of  preventing  any  waste  from  the  places  they 
occupy.  Finding  in  them  the  same  protection  which  is 
afforded  by  the  snow,  or  by  the  matting  of  straw  provided 
by  the  gardener,  there  are  many  plants  that  vegetate  un- 
der their  surface,  secure  from  the  alternate  action  of  freez- 

8*  L 


178  THE   FLOWERLESS   PLANTS. 

ing  and  thawing  in  winter,  and  of  drought  in  summer. 
Hence  certain  plants  blossom  more  luxuriantly  in  a  bed 
of  mosses  than  in  the  unoccupied  soil. 

The  mosses  are  seldom  found  in  cultivated  lands.  As 
they  grow  entirely  on  the  shallow  surface,  the  labors  of 
the  tiller  of  the  soil  are  fatal  to  them.  They  delight  in 
old  woods,  in  moist  barren  pastures,  in  solitary  moorlands, 
and  in  all  unfrequented  places.  In  those  situations  they 
remain  fresh  and  beautiful,  while  they  prepare  for  the 
higher  vegetable  tribes  many  a  barren  spot,  that  must 
otherwise  remain  forever  without  its  plant.  They  are, 
therefore,  the  pioneers  of  vegetable  life ;  and  Nature,  when 
she  selects  an  uncongenial  tract  to  be  made  productive 
of  fruits  or  flowers,  covers  the  surface  with  a  close  tex- 
ture of  moss,  and  variegates  it  with  lichens,  before  she 
strews  the  seeds  of  the  higher  plants  to  vegetate  among 
their  roots.  The  wise  husbandman,  who,  by  a  careful  rota- 
tion of  crops,  causes  his  land  to  be  constantly  productive, 
is  but  an  humble  imitator  of  Nature's  great  principle  of 
action. 

The  mosses  have  never  been  made  objects  of  extensive 
cultivation  by  our  florists.  Every  rambler  in  the  wild 
wood  knows  their  value  and  their  beauty,  which  seem  to 
have  been  overlooked  by  the  cultivator.  They  undoubt- 
edly possess  qualities  that  might  be  rendered  valuable  for 
purposes  of  artificial  embellishment.  There  is  no  tree 
•with  foliage  of  so  perfect  a  green  tint  as  that  of  the  moss 
which  covers  the  roofs  of  very  old  buildings.  The  mossy 
knolls  in  damp  woods  are  peculiarly  attractive  on  ac- 
count of  their  verdure,  and  the  fine  velvety  softness  of 
their  pleasantly  rounded  surface.  Though  the  mosses 
produce  no  flowers,  the  little  germs  that  grow  on  the  ex- 
tremities of  their  hair-like  stems  are  perfect  jewels.  With 
them,  however,  it  is  the  stem  that  exhibits  the  most  beau- 
ty of  hues,  varying  from  a  deep  yellow  to  a  clear  'and 


THE   FLOWERLESS   PLANTS.  179 

lively  claret  or  crimson,  while  the  termination  is  green  or 
brown.  I  have  nothing  to  say  of  the  physiology  of  their 
propagation.  I  treat  of  mosses  only  as  they  are  beautiful 
objects  of  sight,  and  useful  agents  in  unfolding  and  dis- 
tributing the  bounties  of  Nature.  This  tribe  furnishes  uo 
sustenance  to  man  or  to  any  other  animal.  Those  eatable 
plants  which  are  called  by  the  name  of  mosses  are  either 
lichens  or  sea-weeds.  Nature,  who,  with  a  provident  hand, 
renders  many  of  her  productions  capable  of  supplying  a 
manifold  purpose  in  her  economy,  has  limited  the  agency 
of  the  mosses  to  a  few  simple  and  beautiful  services. 
They  perform,  under  her  invisible  guidance,  for  the  held 
and  the  forest,  what  is  done  by  the  painter  and  the 
embosser  for  the  works  of  the  builder  of  temples  and 
palaces. 

The  ferns  have  fewer  picturesque  attractions  than  the 
mosses  ;  but  like  the  latter,  they  are  allied  with  the  prim- 
itive wilds  of  nature,  with  gloomy  swamps,  which  they 
clothe  with  verdure,  and  with  rocky  precipices,  on  whose 
shelvy  sides  they  are  distributed  like  the  tiles  on  the  roof 
of  a  house.  They  resemble  mosses  in  their  dissimilarity  to 
common  vegetable  forms  ;  and  their  broad  wing-like  leaves 
or  fronds  are  the  conspicuous  ornaments  of  wet  woods  and 
solitary  pastures  which  are  unvisited  by  the  plough.  By 
their  singular  appearance  we  are  reminded  of  the  primi- 
tive forms  of  vegetation  on  the  earth's  surface,  and  of  the 
luxuriant  productions  of  the  tropics. 

The  ferns  are  for  the  most  part  a  coarse  tribe  of  plant-, 
having  more  beauty  in  their  forms  than  in  their  texture. 
In  temperate  latitudes  it  is  only  their  leaf  or  frond  that 
is  conspicuous,  their  stems  being  either  prostrate  or  sub- 
terranean. Yet  in  some  of  the  species  nothing  can  be 
more  beautiful  than  the  ramifications  of  their  fronds.  In 
their  arrangements  we  may  observe  a  perfect  harmony 
and  regularity,  without  the  formality  that  marks  the  com- 


180  THE  FLOWERLESS  PLANTS. 

pound  leaves  of  other  plants.  Herein  Nature  affords  an 
example  of  a  compound  assemblage  of  parts,  in  a  pleas* 
ing  uniformity  that  far  exceeds  the  most  ingenious  de- 
vices of  art.  Apparently  similar  arrangements  are  seen 
in  the  leaves  of  the  poison  hemlock,  the  milfoil,  and  the 
Roman  wormwood ;  but  their  formality  is  not  so  beau- 
tifully blended  with  variety  as  that  of  the  compound- 
leaved  ferns. 

In  tropical  countries  some  of  the  ferns  are  woody  plants, 
attaining  the  size  of  trees,  rising  with  a  branchless  trunk 
over  fifty  feet  in  height,  and  then  spreading  out  their 
leaves  like  a  palm-tree.  Hence  they  are  singularly  at- 
tractive objects  to  the  traveller  from  the  North,  by  the 
sight  of  which  he  seems  to  be  carried  back  to  the  early 
ages  of  the  world,  before  the  human  race  had  a  foothold 
upon  the  earth.  Here  we  know  them  only  as  an  inferior 
tribe  in  relation  to  size,  the  tallest  seldom  exceeding  two 
or  three  feet  in  height.  Everything  in  their  appearance 
is  singular,  from  the  time  when  they  first  push  up  their 
purple  and  yellow  scrolls  above  the  surface  of  the  soil, 
covered  with  a  sort  of  downy  plumage,  to  the  time  when 
their  leaves  are  spread  out  like  an  eagle's  wings,  and  their 
long  spikes  of  russet  flowers,  if  they  may  be  so  called, 
stand  erect  above  the  weeds  and  grasses,  forming  a  beau- 
tiful contrast  with  the  pure  summer  greenness  of  all  other 
vegetation. 

There  are  few  plants  that  exceed  in  beauty  and  delicacy 
of  structure  the  common  maiden-hair.  The  main  stem  is 
of  a  glossy  jet,  and  divided  into  two  principal  branches, 
that  produce  in  their  turn  several  other  branches  from 
their  upper  side,  resembling  a  compound  pinnate  leaf 
without  its  formality.  In  woods  in  the  western  part  of 
this  State  is  a  remarkable  fern  called  the  walking  leaf. 
It  derives  its  name  from  a  singular  habit  of  striking  root 
at   the  extremities  of  the  fronds,  giving  origin  to  new 


THE    FLOWERLESS   PLANTS.  181 

plants,  and  travelling  along  in  this  manner  from  one  point 
to  another.  There  is  only  one  climbing  fern  anion-  our 
native  plants.  Equally  beautiful  and  rare,  it  is  found 
only  in  a  few  localities  all  the  way  from  Massachusetts  to 
the  West  Indies.  Unlike  other  ferns  in  its  twining  habit, 
it  has  also  palmate  leaves,  with  five  lobes,  and  bears  its 
fruit  in  a  panicle,  like  the  osmunda.  But  we  need  not 
search  out  the  rare  ferns  for  specimens  of  elegance  or 
beauty.  The  common  polypody,  with  its  minutely  divid- 
ed leaves,  covers  the  sides  of  steep  wooded  hills  and  rocky 
precipices,  and  adorns  with  a  beautiful  evergreen  verdure 
their  barren  slopes,  otherwise  destitute  of  attractions.  The 
ferns  and  the  mosses  are  peculiarly  the  ornaments  of 
waste  and  desert  places,  clothing  with  their  verdure  desert 
plains  and  rough  declivities. 

I  have  always  attached  a  romantic  interest  to  the  sea- 
weeds, whose  forms  remind  me  of  the  haunts  of  the 
Nereids,  of  the  mysterious  chambers  of  the  ocean,  and 
of  all  that  is  interesting  among  the  deep  inlets  of  the  sea. 
Though  flowerless,  they  are  unsurpassed  in  the  delicate 
arrangement  of  their  branches,  and  the  variety  of  colors 
they  display.  We  see  them  only  when  broken  off  from 
the  rocks  on  which  they  grew,  and  washed  upon  the  shore, 
where  they  lie,  after  a  storm,  like  flowers  scattered  upon 
the  greensward  by  the  scythe  of  the  mower.  Winn 
branching  out  in  the  perfection  of  their  forms,  underneath 
the  clear  briny  tide,  they  are  unsurpassed  by  few  plants 
in  elegance.  The  artist  has  taken  advantage  of  their  pe- 
culiar branching  forms  and  their  delicate  hues,  and  weaves 
them  into  chaplets  of  many  beautiful  designs. 

The  sea-weeds  seem  to  be  allied  to  the  lichens,  and  are 
considered  by  some  botanists  as  the  same  plants  modified 
by  growing  under  water,  and  tinted  by  the  iodine  and 
bromine  which  they  imbibe  from  the  sea. 

The  lichens  are  the  lowest  tribe  in  the  scale  of  vegeta- 


182  THE   FLOWERLESS   PLANTS. 

tion.  They  make  their  appearance  on  naked  rocks,  and 
clothe  them  with  a  sort  of  fringe,  holding  fast  on  the  rock 
for  security,  and  deriving  their  chief  sustenance  from  the 
atmosphere  and  particles  of  dust  wafted  on  the  winds 
and  lodged  at  their  roots.  They  have  properly,  however, 
no  roots,  neither  have  they  leaves  or  stem ;  yet  they  are 
almost  infinitely  varied  in  their  forms,  hues,  and  ramifi- 
cations. They  grow  in  all  places  which  are  exposed  to 
air  and  moisture,  on  the  surface  of  rocks,  old  walls,  fences, 
posts,  and  on  branches  of  trees.  Some  of  the  species  are 
foliaceous,  resembling  leaves  without  branches  or  any  dis- 
tinct or  regular  outline,  and  they  are  found  mostly  on 
rocks.  Others  are  erect  and  ramified  like  trees  and  shrubs, 
but  without  anything  that  represents  foliage.  Such  is 
that  common  grav  lichen  that  covers  our  barren  hills, 
which  is  a  perfect  hygrometer,  crumbling  under  the  feet 
in  dry  weather,  and  yielding  to  the  step  like  velvet, 
whenever  the  air  contains  moisture.  In  similar  places, 
and  growing  along  with  it,  is  found  one  of  the  hepatic 
mosses  that  produces  those  little  tubercles  —  the  fructifi- 
cation of  the  plant  —  resembling  dots  of  sealing-wax, 
eagerly  sought  by  artists  who  manufacture  designs  in 
moss.  But  the  most  beautiful  lichens  are  those  which 
are  pendent  from  trees,  consisting  of  branching  threads, 
of  an  ash-green  color,  and  bearing  little  circular  shields 
at  their  extremities.  These  lichens  give  character  to 
moist  woods  and  low  cedar-swamps,  where  they  hang 
like  funereal  drapery  from  the  boughs  and  deepen  the 
oloom  of  their  solitudes. 

Lichens,  though  inhabiting  all  parts  of  the  earth,  are 
particularly  luxuriant  in  cold  climates,  thriving  in  extreme 
polar  latitudes,  where  not  another  plant  can  live.  Nature 
seems  to  have  designed  them  as  an  instrument  for  prepar- 
ing every  barren  spot  witli  the  means  of  sustaining  the 
more  valuable  plants.     Not  only  do  they  cause  a  gradual 


THE   FLOWERLESS   PLANTS.  183 

accumulation  of  soil  by  their  decay,  but  they  actually 
feed  upon  the  rocks  by  means  of  oxalic  acid  that  exudes 
from  their  substance.  By  this  process  the  surface  of  the 
solid  rock  is  changed  into  a  soil  fitted  for  the  nutrition  of 
plants.  After  the  lichens  have  perished,  the  mosses  and 
ferns  take  root  in  the  soil  that  is  furnished  by  their  decay. 
One  vegetable  tribe  after  another  grows  to  perfection  and 
perishes,  but  to  give  place  to  its  more  noble  successor, 
until  a  sufficient  quantity  of  soil  is  accumulated  for  the 
growth  of  a  forest  of  trees.  In  such  order  may  the  whole 
earth  have  been  gradually  covered  with  plants,  by  the 
perishing  of  one  tribe  after  another,  leaving  its  substance 
for  the  support  of  a  superior  tribe,  until  the  work  of  crea- 
tion was  completed. 

Among  the  grotesque  productions  of  nature,  the  fungi, 
or  mushroom  tribe,  ought  undoubtedly  to  be  named  as 
the  most  remarkable,  attaining  the  whole  of  their  growth 
in  the  space  of  a  few  days,  and  sometimes  of  a  few  hours. 
They  are  simple  in  their  parts,  like  what  may  be  supposed 
to  have  been  the  earliest  productions  of  nature.  They 
have  no  leaves  or  flowers  or  branches.  They  will  grow 
and  continue  in  health  without  light,  requiring  nothing 
but  air  and  moisture  above  their  roots.  Though  so  low 
in  the  scale  of  vegetation,  they  are  not  without  elegance 
of  form  and  beauty  of  color,  and  are  remembered  in 
connection  with  dark  pine  woods,  where,  forming  a  sort 
of  companionship  with  the  monotropas,  they  are  particu- 
larly luxuriant.  jSTeither  are  they  deficient  in  poetical 
interest,  as  these  plants  are  the  cause  of  those  fairy  rings 
that  attract  attention  by  their  mysterious  growth  in  cir- 
cles on  the  greensward  in  the  pastures. 

The  mushrooms  vary  extremely  in  their  forms  and 
sizes.  Some  are  as  slender  as  the  finest  mosses,  tinted 
with  gold  and  scarlet,  and  almost  transparent  Others 
resemble  a  parasol,  with  their  upper  surface  of  a  brilliant 


184  THE  FLOWERLESS  PLANTS. 

straw-color,  clotted  with  purple,  and  their  under  surface 
of  rose  or  lilac.  They  seem  to  riot  in  all  sorts  of  beauti- 
ful and  peculiar  shapes  and  combinations.  But  the  greater 
number  are  remarkable  only  for  their  grotesque  forms,  as 
if  intended  as  a  burlesque  upon  the  other  productions  of 
the  earth.  Almost  every  tree,  after  its  decay,  gives  origin 
to  a  particular  species  of  mushroom.  They  are  often  seen 
as  small  as  pins,  with  little  heads  resembling  red  and  yel- 
low beads,  growing  like  a  forest  under  the  moist  protec- 
tion of  some  broad-leaved  shrubbery.  .Over  the  surface 
of  all  accumulations  of  decayed  vegetable  matter  they  are 
seen  spreading  out  their  umbrellas  and  lifting  up  their 
heads,  often  springing  up  suddenly,  as  if  by  enchantment. 
But  they  are  short-lived,  and  soon  perish  if  the  light  of 
the  sun  is  admitted  into  their  shady  haunts. 

Thus  far  have  I  endeavored  to  call  attention  to  the 
flowerless  plants,  not  designing  to  treat  of  them  in  a  sci- 
entific manner.     I  have  said  nothing,  therefore,  of  the 
characeas  and  the  equisetums,  lest  I  make  useless  repe- 
titions of  remarks  which  are  necessarily  of  a  general  char- 
acter.    Whoever  will  take  pains  to  examine  these  plants 
will  discover  an  inexhaustible  variety  in  their  forms,  their 
modes  of  growth,  and  their  fructification.     Hence  those 
botanists  who  have  given  particular  attention  to  this  class 
of  vegetation  have  been  noted  for  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  they  pursued  their  researches.     I  have  never  been 
initiated   into   the   mysteries  of   their  life,  growth,  and 
continuance.     I  treat  of  them  only  as  they  serve  to  add 
beauty  to  a  little  nook  in  the  garden,  to  a  dripping  rock, 
or  to  a  solitary  dell  in  the  wildwood.     The  more  we  study 
them,  the  more  are  we  charmed  with  their  singularity 
and  elegance. 

Thus,  over  all  her  productions  has  Nature  spread  the 
charms  of  beautiful  forms  and  tints,  from  the  humblest 
mushroom  that  grows  upon  the  decayed  stump  of  a  tree, 


THE   FLOWERLESS   PLANTS.  18 


o 


or  the  lichen  that  hangs  in  drapery  from  its  living 
branches,  to  the  lofty  tree  itself  that  rears  its  head  among 
the  clouds.  It  is  not  in  all  cases  those  objects  which  are 
most  attractive  to  a  superficial  observation  that  furnish 
the  most  delight  to  a  scrutinizing  mind.  The  greatest 
beauties  of  Nature  are  hidden  from  vulgar  sight,  as  if  pur- 
posely reserved  to  reward  the  efforts  of  those  who,  with 
minds  devoted  to  truth,  pursue  their  researches  in  the 
great  temple  of  science. 


DEOUGHT. 

It  is  an  interesting  employment  to  watch  the  progress 
of  a  drought  from  its  commencement,  and  to  witness  the 
efforts  of  nature  to  resist  its  effects  and  to  guard  the 
tender  plants  from  injury.  By  carefully  noting  all  its 
phenomena,  we  may  arrive  at  a  knowledge  of  its  causes, 
which  are  undoubtedly,  in  one  way  or  another,  connected 
with  the  clearing  of  the  forests,  and  we  may  learn  the 
means  by  which  we  may  secure  our  crops  from  its  rav- 
ages, by  certain  appliances  or  particular  modes  of  tillage. 
The  drought  that  visited  us  in  the  summer  and  autumn 
of  1854,  on  account  of  its  extraordinary  severity  and  du- 
ration, afforded  a  study  for  the  observer  of  nature,  such  as 
but  few  generations  can  witness ;  and  it  has  led  to  much 
speculation  concerning  the  means  which  may  be  used  to 
save  the  country  from  the  frequent  recurrence  of  such  an 
evil.  I  am  but  a  speculative  and  superficial  observer  of 
these  phenomena,  having  entered  only  the  vestibule  of  the 
temple  of  science.  From  this  I  endeavor  to  take  as  wide 
a  view  as  possible  of  Nature  and  her  works,  humbly  seek- 
ing every  opportunity  to  gain  access  to  the  inner  temple, 
from  whose  windows  I  may  behold  a  wider  prospect,  and 
trace  the  relations  of  things  which  seem  now  to  have  no 
mutual  dependence.  Many  important  laws  are  discov- 
ered by  correctly  noting  superficial  appearances ;  and  if 
we  trace  the  connections  between  all  the  phenomena  that 
attend  one  of  these  periods  of  drought,  we  may  acquire 
many  points  of  information  that  would  be  valuable  both 
to  science  and  agriculture. 


DROUGHT.  187 

The  first  symptoms  of  drought  are  manifest  in  the  wilt- 
ing of  the  grasses,  and  other  rough-leaved  and  iil nous- 
rooted  plants.  Of  all  perennials,  the  grasses  are  the  least 
able  to  bear  continued  heat  and  drought ;  hence  the  almi  »st 
entire  absence  of  this  tribe  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  in 
the  tropics,  and  their  scarcity  in  all  latitudes  below  the 
temperate  zone.  Almost  at  the  same  time  with  the  grasses 
the  tender  annuals  begin  to  wilt  and  droop  in  the  gar- 
dens. Among  our  common  weeds,  the  Roman  wormwood, 
the  goosefoot,  the  mustard,  and  the  wild  radish  feel  its 
effects  at  an  early  period.  Their  leaves  become  drawn 
up,  they  gradually  lose  their  verdure  and  freshness,  and 
do  not  increase  in  growth.  Of  the  annuals,  those  suffer 
the  least  which  have  a  succulent  leaf  and  stem,  like  the 
portulacca  and  the  sedum.  All  the  rough-leaved  species, 
like  the  aster  and  the  hibiscus,  are  among  the  first  plants 
that  suffer  and  perish. 

As  the  drought  proceeds,  the  grass  fields  in  the  uplands, 
where  the  soil  is  thin  and  meagre,  become  dry  and  yel- 
low ;  and  the  clover,  the  white  weed,  and  the  saxifrage  are 
made  conspicuous  by  their  green  tufts,  which  retain  their 
verdure  after  the  grasses  are  completely  seared.  At  the 
same  time  the  foliage  of  young  trees  loses  its  lustre, 
and  is  often  partially  tinted  by  premature  ripeness  and 
decay.  The  unripened  fruits  drop  constantly  from  the 
trees,  and  the  new  foliage  that  is  put  forth  is  pale,  as  if  it 
had  suffered  from  a  deficiency  of  light.  The  fruits  of  the 
season  ripen  before  they  have  attained  their  fulness;  the 
whortleberries  are  withered  and  dried  like  pepper,  and 
their  foliage  is  rolled  up  and  crisp.  The  air  contains  no 
moisture,  and  the  hygrometrical  lichens  upon  the  rocks 
and  hills  are  crusty,  and  break  and  crumble  under  our 
feet,  even  after  sunset. 

The  lowlands  be^in  to  suffer  after  the  uplands  seem 
to  be  past  redemption.     Rivers  have  shrunk  to  rivul 


188  DROUGHT. 

and  widespread  lakes  to  drear  morasses,  encircled  by  a 
blackened  margin,  which  is  exposed  by  the  receding  of 
the  waters.  Shallow  ponds  are  completely  dried,  and  the 
fishes  are  dead  and  stiffened  in  the  marl  which  has  been 
baked  in  the  sun.  The  aquatic  plants  lift  up  their  long, 
blackened  stems  out  of  the  mud,  showing  the  former 
height  of  the  water,  that  has  sunken  away  from  them. 
"We  look  round  in  vain  for  the  usual  wild-flowers  of  the 
season;  they  remain  blighted  and  stationary  in  their 
growth,  and  refuse  to  put  forth  their  blossoms.  The 
whole  landscape  wears  the  aspect  of  a  desert ;  for  even 
the  dews  have  fled,  and  the  evening  air  is  dry  and  sultry. 

The  sallow  hues  of  autumn  rest  upon  the  brows  of  sum- 
mer, like  the  paleness  and  wrinkles  of  age  upon  a  crew 
that  are  perishing  with  starvation  and  thirst.  We  find 
no  wet  places  in  the  meadows,  and  even  the  brooksides 
can  hardly  be  traced  by  their  greener  vegetation.  The 
forest-trees  at  last  begin  to  suffer ;  and  on  the  wooded 
hill- tops  we  see  here  and  there  a  group  of  trees  completely 
browned  or  blackened  in  their  foliage,  some  being  dead,  and 
others  having  gone  into  a  state  of  premature  hibernation. 
The  animals  suffer  no  less  than  the  vegetables  on  which 
they  are  dependent.  The  birds  are  languid  and  restless, 
and  do  not  sing  with  their  accustomed  spirit.  The  squir- 
rels make  longer  journeys  in  search  of  their  food,  and  the 
hare  finds  it  difficult  to  obtain  sustenance  from  the  dried 
and  tasteless  herbs  and  clover.  The  chirping  insects  are 
dumb  and  motionless  for  the  want  of  food ;  for  every  ten- 
der herb  is  sear  and  dry,  and  multitudes  of  creatures  are 
hourly  perishing  with  famine. 

At  this  time  man  watches  anxiously  for  the  weather- 
signs,  looking  often  up  to  heaven  for  some  kind  assur- 
ances of  relief ;  but  there  is  no  truth  in  any  of  the  usual 
omens.  The  tree-toads  from  the  neighboring  orchard  — 
the  weather's  faithful  augurs  —  by  an  occasional  feeble 


DROUGHT.  ISO 

croaking  give  false  promises  of  change.  The  western 
clouds  diminish  as  they  rise;  for  the  fountains  of  heaven 
are  dried  up,  and  cannot  supply  them  with  moisture.  The 
black  and  threatening  clouds  that  before  sunset  darken 
the  horizon  with  the  signs  of  approaching  rain  are  deceit- 
ful, and  false  is  every  beautiful  signal  which  is  hung  out 
amid  the  splendors  of  declining  day.  There  is  no  truth 
in  any  sign  that  appears  in  the  heavens  or  on  the  earth. 

The  arrangements  of  the  clouds  do  not  differ  essentially 
from  such  as  appear  in  ordinary  seasons ;  but  the  hue  of 
the  heavens  is  less  brilliant,  and  the  tints  of  yellow  and 
bronze  predominate  over  those  of  crimson  and  vermilion. 
The  clouds  invariably  dissolve  soon  after  sunset,  like  the 
steam  from  boiling  water  in  a  clear  atmosphere.  This 
dissolution  is  one  of  the  unfailing  accompaniments  of 
drought  in  all  seasons.  "While  the  sun  is  up,  there  is 
sufficient  evaporation  to  produce  clouds,  which  continue 
to  increase  as  long  as  this  moisture  is  raised  by  the 
sun's  heat,  because  the  dry  region  of  air  above  does  not 
absorb  them  so  rapidly  as  they  are  produced  from  below. 
At  the  sun's  decline  all  evaporation  from  the  earth  and 
the  water  ceases.  The  superfluous  moisture  of  the  lower 
strata  of  the  atmosphere  is  then  precipitated  to  the  earth 
in  the  form  of  dew,  and  the  clouds,  which  were  formed  in 
the  daytime,  are  rapidly  absorbed  into  the  dry  atmospheric 
region  above  them.  This  process  is  carried  on,  day  after 
day,  until  the  whole  atmosphere  has  become  saturated, 
after  which  rain  must  soon  follow.  The  first  symptoms 
of  this  saturation  are  the  continuance  of  the  clouds  with- 
out any  diminution  of  their  bulk  after  sunset. 

The  majority  of  observers  have  probably  witnessed  this 
process  of  evaporation  of  the  clouds  during  a  dry  spell,  in 
the  afternoon,  —  a  phenomenon  which  undoubtedly  con- 
tributed to  give  rise  to  the  old  saving  that  "all  signs  fail 
in  a  dry  time."     The  clouds  darken  and  gather  together 


190  DROUGHT. 

as  usual  before  a  thunder-shower.  They  rise  slowly/and 
sometimes,  though  hut  seldom,  a  slight  rumbling  of  thun- 
der may  be  heard  at  a  distance.  As  they  ascend  above  the 
horizon,  their  substance  becomes  perceptibly  thinner  and 
more  transparent :  the  fragments  that  are  broken  off  from 
their  summits  dissolve  into  air,  and  the  clouds  will  have 
entirely  disappeared  before  they  have  risen  twenty  degrees 
into  the  heavens.  Not  unfrequently  a  cloud  continues  to 
ascend  during  the  prevalence  of  a  strong  wind  that  bears 
it  along  so  rapidly  as  to  give  it  no  time  to  dissolve.  As 
we  watch  its  progress  with  gladness  and  expectation,  we 
soon  observe  beneath  its  dark  mass  a  gleam  as  bright  as 
sold.  The  trees  and  herbs  are  bent  by  a  brisk  and  sucl- 
den  gale  ;  a  storm  of  dust  conceals  the  landscape  from 
sight ;  a  few  heavy  drops,  amidst  the  din  of  the  elements, 
splash  on  the  dusty  streets,  and  all  is  over. 

The  weather  during  a  period  of  drought  in  summer  is 
always  even  and  warm.  Any  sudden  or  extreme  changes 
of  temperature  must  necessarily  produce  rain.  Hence 
fair  and  serene  days  are  the  usual  accompaniments  of 
drought.  But  vegetation  is  so  greatly  seared  and  de- 
prived of  its  verdure,  and  all  animated  things  are  so  list- 
less and  silent,  that  there  is  but  little  pleasure  in  a  prospect, 
except  of  the  ocean  and  the  heavens.  It  is  then  delight- 
ful to  witness  the  movements  of  the  water-birds,  that 
seem  not  to  share  the  afflictions  of  other  creatures ;  and 
it  is  refreshing  to  observe  the  luxuriance  of  the  marine 
plants,  and  to  feel  the  damp  and  invigorating  influence 
of  the  sea-breezes  that  come  laden  with  moisture,  and 
afford  a  pleasing  anticipation  of  the  blessing  that  must 
erelong  spring  from  this  great  reservoir  of  waters  and 
ultimate  source  of  all  the  terrestrial  gifts  of  Nature. 


JULY. 

The  month  of  balmy  breezes  and  interminable  ver- 
dure has  given  place  to  one  of  parching  heat  and  sun- 
shine, which  has  seared  the  verdant  brows  of  the  hills, 
and  driven  away  the  vernal  flowers  that  crowned  their 
summits.  They  have  fled  from  the  uplands  to  escape 
the  heat  and  drought,  and  have  sought  shelter  in  wet 
places  or  under  the  damp  shade  of  woods.  Many  of  the 
rividets  that  gave  animation  to  the  prospect  in  the  spring- 
are  now  marked  only  by  a  narrow  channel,  filled  with  a 
luxuriant  growth  of  herbs,  that  follow  its  winding  course 
along  the  plain;  and  the  shallow  pools  that  watered  the 
early  cowslips  are  turned  into  meads  of  waving  herbage. 
Millions  of  bright  flowers  are  nodding  their  heads  over  the 
tall  grass,  but  we  scarcely  heed  them,  for  they  seem  like 
the  haughty  usurpers  of  the  reign  of  the  meeker  flowers 
of  spring.  The  cattle  have  taken  shelter  under  the  trees 
to  escape  the  hot  beams  of  the  sun,  and  many  may  be 
seen  standing  in  pools  or  the  margins  of  ponds  for  refresh- 
ment and  protection  from  insects.  All  animated  nature 
is  indulging  a  languid  repose,  and  the  feeble  gales  hardly 
shake  the  leaves  of  aspen-trees  as  they  pass  by  them, 
faint  and  exhausted  with  the  sultry  heats  of  July. 

As  June  was  the  month  of  music  and  flowers,  July  La 
the  harvest  month  of  the  early  fruits;  and,  though  the 
poet  might  prefer  the  former,  the  present  offers  the  must 
attractions  to  the  epicure.  StrawTberries,  that  gem  the 
meads,  and  raspberry-bushes  that  embroider  the  stone- 
walls and  fences,  hang  out  their  ripe,  red  clusters  of  berries 


192  JULY. 

where  the  wild-rose  and  the  elder-flower  scent  the  air  with 
their  fragrance.  The  rocks  and  precipices,  so  lately  crowned 
with  flowers,  are  festooned  with  thimbleberries,  that  spring 
out  in  tufts  from  the  mossy  crevices  half  covered  with 
green,  umbrageous  ferns.  There  is  no  spot  so  barren  that 
it  is  not  covered  with  something  that  is  beautiful  to  the 
sight  or  grateful  to  the  sense.  The  little  pearly  flowers 
that  hung  in  profusion  from  the  low  blueberry-bushes, 
whose  beauty  and  fragrance  we  so  lately  admired,  are 
transformed  into  azure  fruits,  that  rival  the  flowers  in 
elegance.  Nature  would  convert  us  all  into  epicures  by 
chaiminix  into  agreeable  fruits  those  beautiful  things  we 
contemplated  so  lately  with  a  tender  sentiment  allied  to 
that  of  love.  Summer  is  surely  the  season  of  epicurism, 
as  spring  is  that  of  the  luxury  of  sentiment.  Nature  has 
now  bountifully  provided  for  every  sense.  The  trees  that 
afford  a  pleasant  shade  are  surrounded  with  an  under- 
growth of  fruitful  shrubs,  and  the  winds  that  fan  the  brow 
are  laden  with  odors  gathered  from  beds  of  roses,  azaleas, 
and  honeysuckles.  Goldfinches  and  humming-birds  peep 
down  upon  us,  as  they  flit  among  the  branches  of  the 
trees,  and  butterflies  settle  upon  the  flowers  and  charm 
our  eyes  with  their  gorgeous  colors.  In  the  pastures  the 
red  lilies  have  appeared,  and  young  children  who  go  out 
into  the  fields  to  gather  these  simple  luxuries,  after  filling 
their  baskets  with  fruit,  crown  their  arms  with  bouquets 
of  lilies,  laurels,  and  honeysuckles,  rejoicing  over  their 
beauty  during  the  happiest,  as  it  is  the  most  simple  and 
natural,  period  of  their  lives. 

There  is  not  a  more  agreeable  recreation  at  the  present 
season  than  a  boat-excursion  upon  a  wood-skirted  pond, 
when  its  alluvial  borders  are  brightly  spangled  with  water- 
lilies,  and  the  air  is  full  of  delicate  incense  from  their 
sweet-scented  flowers.  The  plover  may  be  seen  gliding 
with  nimble   feet  upon  the  broad  leaves  that  float  on 


July.  193 

the  surface  of  the  waters,  so  lightly  as  hardly  to  impress 
a  dimple  on  the  glossy  sheen ;  and  multitudes  of  fishes 
are  gambolling  among  their  long  stems  in  the  clear  depths 
below.  Among  the  fragrant  white  lilies  are  interspersed 
the  more  curious  though  less  delicate  flowers  of  the  yel- 
low lily;  and  in  clusters  here  and  there  upon  the  shore, 
where  the  turf  is  clank  and  tremulous,  the  purple  sarrace- 
nias  bow  their  heads  over  lands  that  have  never  felt  the 
plough.  The  alders  and  birches  cast  a  beautiful  shade 
upon  the  mirrored  border  of  the  lake,  the  birds  are  sing- 
ing melodiously  among  their  branches,  and  clusters  of 
ripe  raspberries  overhang  the  banks  as  we  sail  along  their 
shelvy  sides. 

But  we  listen  in  vain  on  our  rural  excursions  for  the 
songs  of  multitudes  of  birds  that  were  tuneful  a  few- 
weeks  since.  The  chattering  bobolink,  merriest  bird  of 
June,  has  become  silent ;  he  will  soon  doff  his  black  coat 
and  yellow  epaulettes,  and  put  on  the  russet  garb  of  win- 
ter. His  voice  is  heard  no  more  in  concert  with  the  gen- 
eral anthem  of  Nature.  He  has  become  silent  with  all 
his  merry  kindred,  and,  instead  of  the  lively  notes  poured 
out  so  merrily  for  the  space  of  two  months,  Ave  hear  only 
a  plaintive  chirping,  as  the  birds  wander  about  the  fields 
in  scattered  parties,  no  longer  employed  in  the  cares  of 
wedded  life.  But  there  are  several  of  our  warblers  that 
still  remain  tuneful.  The  little  wood-sparrow  sings  more 
loudly  than  ever,  the  vireo  and  wren  still  enliven  the 
gardens,  and  the  hermit-thrush  daily  utters  his  liquid 
strains  from  his  deep  sylvan  retreat  upon  the  wooded 
hills. 

In  the  place  of  the  birds  myriads  of  chirping  inse<  '  - 
pour  forth  during  the  heat  of  the  day  a  continual  din  of 
merry  voices.  Day  by  day  are  they  stringing  their  harps 
anew,  and  leading  out  a  fresh  host  of  musicians,  makii  g 
ready  to  gladden  the  autumn  with  the  fulness  of  tl 

9  M 


194  JULY. 

son^s.  At  intervals  during  the  hottest  of  the  weather, 
we  hear  the  peculiar  spinning  notes  of  the  harvest-fly,  a 
species  of  locust,  beginning  low  and  with  a  gradual  swell, 
increasing  in  loudness  for  a  few  seconds,  then  slowly 
dying  away  into  silence.  To  my  mind  these  sounds  are 
vivid  remembrancers  of  the  pleasures  and  languishment 
of  noonday,  of  cool  shades  apart  from  sultry  heats,  of  re- 
pose beneath  embowering  canopies  of  willows,  or  grate- 
ful repasts  of  fruits  in  the  summer  orchard. 

The  season  of  haymaking  has  arrived,  the  mowers  are 
busy  in  their  occupation,  and  the  whetting  of  the  scythe 
blends  harmoniously  with  the  sounds  of  animated  nature. 
The  air  is  filled  with  the  fragrance  of  new-mown  hay, 
the  dying  incense-offering  of  the  troops  of  flowers  that 
perish  beneath  the  fatal  scythe.  Many  are  the  delightful 
remembrances  connected  with  haymaking  to  those  who 
have  spent  their  youth  in  the  country.  In  moderate  sum- 
mer weather  there  is  no  more  delightful  occupation.  Every 
toil  is  pleasant  that  leads  us  into  green  fields  and  fills  the 
mind  with  the  cheerfulness  of  all  living  tilings. 

But  summer,  with  all  its  delightful  occasions  of  joy  and 
rejoicing,  is  in  one  respect  the  most  melancholy  season  of 
the  Year.  We  are  now  the  constant  witnesses  of  some 
regretful  change  in  the  aspect  of  nature,  reminding  us  of 
the  fate  of  all  things  and  the  transitoriness  of  existence. 
Every  morning  sun  looks  down  upon  the  graves  of  whole 
tribes  of  flowers  that  were  but  yesterday  the  pride  and 
glory  of  the  fields.  Day  by  day  as  I  pursue  my  walks, 
while  rejoicing  at  the  discovery  of  some  new  and  beauti- 
ful visitant  of  the  meads,  I  am  suddenly  affected  with 
sorrow  upon  looking  around  in  vain  for  the  little  com- 
panion of  my  former  excursions,  now  drooping  and  faded 
and  breathing  its  last  breath  of  fragrance  into  the  air. 

I  am  then  reminded  of  early  friends  who  are  no  longer 
with  the  living ;  who  were  cut  down,  one  by  one,  like  the 


JULY.  19 


0 


flowers,  leaving  their  places  to  be  supplied  with  new 
friends,  perhaps  equally  lovely  and  worthy  of  our  a  flec- 
tions, but.  whose  even  greater  loveliness  and  worth  will 
never  comfort  us  for  the  loss  of  those  who  have  departed. 
Like  flowers,  they  smiled  upon  us  for  a  brief  season,  and, 
like  flowers,  they  perished  after  remaining  with  us  but 
to  teach  us  how  to  love  and  how  to  mourn.  The  birds 
likewise  sojourn  with  us  only  long  enough  to  remind  us 
of  the  joy  of  their  presence  and  to  afford  us  an  occasion 
of  sorrow  when  they  leave  us.  We  have  hardly  grown 
familiar  with  their  songs  ere  they  become  silent  and  pre- 
pare for  their  annual  migration.  They  are  like  those 
agreeable  companions  among  our  friends  who  are  ever 
roaming  about  the  world  on  errands  of  duty  or  pleasure, 
and  who  only  divide  with  us  that  pleasant  intercourse 
which  they  share  with  other  friendly  circles  in  different 
parts  of  the  earth. 

It  is  now  midsummer.  Already  do  we  perceive  the 
lengthening  of  the  nights  and  the  shortening  of  the  sun's 
diurnal  orbit.  AVe  are  reminded  by  the  first  observation 
of  this  change  that  summer  is  rapidly  passing  away ;  and 
we  think  upon  it  with  a  painful  sense  of  the  mutability 
of  the  seasons.  But  let  us  not  lament  that  Nature  lias 
ordained  these  alternations;  for  though  there  is  no  change 
that  does  not  brim?  with  it  some  lingering  sorrows  over 
the  past,  yet  may  it  not  be  that  these  vicissitudes  are  the 
true  sources  of  that  happiness  which  we  attribute  only  to 
the  immediate  causes  of  pleasure  ?  Every  month,  while 
it  sadly  reminds  us  of  the  departed  joys  and  beauties  of 
the  last,  brings  with  it  a  recompense  in  bounties  and  bless- 
ings which  the  preceding  month  could  not  afford.  While 
rejoicing,  therefore,  amid  the  voluptuous  delights  of  sum- 
mer, we  will  not  regret  that  we  cannot  live  forever  among 
enervating  luxuries.  With  the  aid  of  temperance  and 
virtue,   all    seasons  as  they  come    may  be  made    equal 


196  JULY. 

sources  of  enjoyment.  And  may  it  not  be  that  life  it- 
self is  but  a  season  in  the  revolving  year  of  eternity,  the 
vernal  season  of  our  immortality,  that  leads  not  round 
and  round  in  a  circle,  but  onward,  in  an  everlasting 
progression,  to  greater  goodness  and  greater  bliss,  un- 
til the  virtues  we  now  cherish  have  ripened  into  eternal 
felicity  ? 


PROTECTION   OF   BIRDS. 

The  presence  of  birds  as  companions  of  a  home  in  the 
country  is  desirable  to  all,  next  to  woods,  flowers,  green 
fields,  and  pleasant  prospects.  Without  birds,  the  land- 
scape, if  not  wanting  in  beauty,  would  lack  something 
which  is  necessary  to  the  happiness  of  all  men  who  are 
above  a  savage  or  a  boor.  Indeed,  it  is  highly  probable 
that  Nature  owes  more  to  the  lively  motions,  songs,  and 
chattering  of  the  feathered  race  for  the  benign  effects  of 
her  charms,  than  to  any  other  single  accompaniment  of 
natural  scenery.  They  are  so  intimately  associated  with 
all  that  is  delightful  in  field  and  forest,  with  our  early 
walks  in  the  morning,  our  rest  at  noonday,  and  our  med- 
itations at  sunset,  with  the  trees  that  spread  their  branches 
over  our  heads,  and  the  lively  verdure  at  our  feet,  that  it 
is  difficult  to  think  of  one  apart  from  the  others.  Through 
the  voices  of  birds  Nature  may  be  said  to  speak  to  us,  and 
without  them  she  would  be  a  dumb  companion  whose 
beauty  would  hardly  be  felt. 

Both  from  our  regard  for  their  utility  to  agriculture 
and  for  their  pleasant  companionship  with  man,  we  have 
thousands  of  motives  for  protecting  the  birds.  Very  little 
attention  has  been  paid  to  this  subject.  A  few  laws  have 
been  made  for  their  preservation;  but  they  have  seldom 
been  enforced.  I  believe  the  farmer  would  promote  his 
own  thrift  by  extending  a  watchful  care  over  all  fami- 
lies of  birds,  but  the  smaller  species  are  the  most  useful 
and  delightful.  It  seems  as  if  Nature  had  given  them 
beauty  of  plumage  and  endowed  them  with  song,  that 


198  PROTECTION   OF   BIRDS. 

man  by  their  attractions  might  be  induced  to  preserve  a 
race  of  creatures  so  valuable  to  his  interest. 

There  are  two  ways  of  preserving  the  birds :  we  may 
avoid  destroying  them,  and  we  may  promote  the  growth 
of  certain  trees,  shrubs,  and  plants  that  afford  them  shelter 
and  subsistence.  The  familiar  birds  that  live  in  our  gar- 
dens and  orchards  will  multiply  in  proportion  as  the  forests 
are  cleared  and  the  land  devoted  to  tillage,  if  the  clearing- 
does  not  amount  to  baldness.  To  this  class  belong  many 
of  our  sparrows,  the  robin,  the  bobolink,  —  indeed,  all  our 
familiar  species.  The  solitary  birds  that  inhabit  the  pas- 
ture and  forest  would  probably  be  exterminated  by  the 
same  operations  that  would  increase  the  number  of  rob- 
ins and  sparrows.  It  is  no  less  necessary  to  keep  the 
birds  for  the  preservation  of  the  forests  than  to  keep 
the  forests  for  the  preservation  of  the  birds. 

To  insure  the  protection  of  all  species,  there  must  be 
a  certain  proportion  of  thicket  and  wildwood.  The  little 
wood-sparrow  seldom  frequents  our  villages,  unless  they 
are  closely  surrounded  by  woods.  Yet  this  bird  lives 
and  breeds  in  the  open  field.  He  frequents  the  pastures 
which  are  overgrown  with  wild  shrubbery  and  its  accom- 
paniment of  vines,  mosses,  and  ferns.  He  is  always  found 
in  the  whortleberry  field,  and  probably  makes  an  occasional 
repast  on  its  fruits  in  their  season.  He  builds  his  nest 
on  the  ground  or  on  a  mossy  knoll  protected  by  a  thicket. 
All  birds  are  attached  to  grounds  which  are  covered  with 
particular  kinds  of  plants  and  shrubbery  that  sustain  their 
favorite  insect  food.  If  we  destroy  this  kind  of  vegetation, 
we  drive  away  the  species  that  are  chiefly  attached  to 
it  from  our  vicinity,  to  seek  their  natural  habitats.  We 
may  thus  account  for  the  silence  that  pervades  the  local- 
ity of  many  admired  country-seats ;  for  with  regard  to 
the  wants  of  our  familiar  birds  it  is  often  that  trimming 
and  cultivation  are  carried  to  a  pernicious  extreme. 


PROTECTION   OF   BIRDS.  ]vi 

There  will  be  no  clanger  for  many  years  to  come  thai 
our  lands  will  be  so  thoroughly  stripped  of  their  native 
growth  of  herbs,  trees,  and  shrubs  as  to  leave  the  birds 
without  their  natural  shelter  in  some  places.  The  danger 
that  awaits  them  is  that  they  may  be  driven  out  of  par- 
ticular localities,  and  the  inhabitants  thereby  deprived 
of  the  presence  of  many  interesting  songsters.  Wher- 
ever the  native  species  are  abundant,  we  find  a  consid- 
erable proportion  of  cultivated  land,  numerous  orchards, 
extensive  fields  of  grass  and  grain,  interspersed  with  frag- 
ments of  forest  or  wildwood,  well  provided  with  water- 
courses. Where  these  conditions  are  present,  the  famil- 
iar birds  will  be  numerous  if  they  are  not  destroyed.  If 
these  cultivated  lands  lie  in  the  vicinity  of  pastures 
abounding  in  thickets  and  wild  shrubbery,  fragments  of 
wood  and  their  indigenous  undergrowth,  we  mav  then  hear 
occasionally  the  notes  of  the  solitary  birds,  many  of  which 
are  superior  in  song.  Wild  shrubbery  and  its  carpet  of 
vines  and  mosses  form  the  conditions  that  are  necessary 
for  the  preservation  of  these  less  familiar  species. 

The  shrubs  that  bear  fruit  are  the  most  useful  to  the 
birds,  especially  as  they  are  infested  by  more  insects  than 
other  kinds.  The  vaccinium,  the  viburnum,  the  cornel, 
the  elder,  the  celastrus,  and  the  small  cherries  are  abun- 
dant where  there  is  a  goodly  number  of  the  less  famil- 
iar birds.  If  we  clear  our  woods  of  their  undergrowth 
and  convert  them  into  parks,  we  do  in  the  same  propor- 
tion diminish  the  numbers  of  many  species.  No  such 
clearing  as  this  is  favorable  to  any  of  the  feathered  race. 
But  the  clearing  and  cultivation  of  the  land  outside  of  tl 
woods,  if  it  be  done  rudely,  leaving  bushes  on  all  barren 
knolls  and  elevations,  is  beneficial  to  all  kinds  of  birds  by 
increasing  the  quantity  of  insect  food  in  the  soil  A  nice 
man  at  the  head  of  a  farm  would  do  move  to  prevent  the 
multiplication  of  birds,  than  a  dozen  striplings  with  their 


200  PROTECTION   OF   BIRDS. 

guns.  The  removal  of  this  miscellaneous  undergrowth 
and  border  shrubbery  would  as  effectually  banish  the  red- 
thrush,  the  catbird,  and  the  smaller  thrushes,  as  we  should 
extirpate  the  squirrels  by  destroying  all  the  nut-bearing 
trees  and  shrubs. 

A  smooth-shaven  green  is  delightful  to  the  eye  at  all 
times ;  but  lawn  is  a  luxury  that  is  obtained  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  familiar  birds  that  nestle  upon  the  ground. 
The  song-sparrows  build  their  nests  in  the  most  fre- 
quented places,  if  they  are  not  liable  to  be  disturbed.  Not 
a  rod  from  our  dwelling-house  these  little  birds  may  have 
their  nests,  if  the  right  conditions  are  there.  They  are 
often  built  on  the  side  of  a  mound  overrun  by  blackberry- 
vines  and  wild  rose-bushes.  He  who  would  entice  them 
to  breed  in  his  enclosures  must  not,  for  the  preservation 
of  a  foolish  kind  of  neatness,  eradicate  the  native  shrubs 
and  vines  as  useless  weeds. 

Clipped  hedge-rows,  which  have  been  recommended 
as  nurseries  of  birds,  are  checks  to  their  multiplication. 
A  hedge-row  cannot  be  "  properly "  maintained  without 
keeping  the  soil  about  its  roots  clear  of  grass  and  wild 
herbage,  which  are  needful  to  the  birds.  It  is  only  a 
neglected  hedge-row  that  is  useful  to  them,  or  a  sponta- 
neous growth  of  bushes  and  briers,  such  as  constitutes 
one  of  the  picturesque  attractions  of  a  New  England 
stone-wall.  We  seldom  see  one  that  is  not  covered  on 
each  side  with  roses,  brambles,  spirea,  viburnum,  and 
other  native  vines  and  shrubs,  so  that  in  some  of  our  open 
fields  the  stone-walls,  with  their  accompaniments,  are  the 
most  attractive  objects  in  the  landscape.  Along  their  bor- 
ders Xature  calls  out,  in  their  season,  the  anemone,  the 
violet,  the  cranesbill,  the  bellwort,  the  convolvulus,  and 
many  other  flowers  of  exceeding  beauty,  while  the  rest 
of  the  field  is  devoted  to  tillage. 

The  "  nice  man "  who  undertakes  farming  will  grudge 


PROTECTION    OF    BIRDS.  201 

Nature  this  narrow  strip  on  each  side  of  his  fences,  though 
she  never  fails  to  cover  it  with  beauty.  He  considers  it 
an  offence  against  neatness  and  order  to  allow  Nature  these 
simple  privileges,  and  employs  his  hired  men  to  keep 
down  every  plant  that  dares  to  peep  out  from  the  fence- 
border  without  a  license  from  the  owner.  Such  a  mis- 
cellaneous hedge-row  would  constitute  a  perfect  aviary 
of  singing-birds,  and  the  benefits  they  would  confer  upon 
the  farmer  by  ridding  his  lands  of  noxious  insects  would 
amply  compensate  him  for  the  space  left  unimproved. 
Then  might  we  hear  the  notes  of  the  wood-thrush  and 
the  red-mavis  in  the  very  centre  of  our  villages,  and 
hundreds  of  small  birds  of  different  species  would  cheer 
us  by  their  songs  where  at  present  only  a  solitary  indi- 
vidual is  to  be  heard. 

From  the  earliest  times  it  has  been  customary  to  en- 
courage the  multiplication  of  swallows  by  the  erection  of 
bird-houses  in  gardens  and  enclosures.  Even  the  Indians 
furnished  a  hospitable  retreat  for  the  purple  martin  by 
fixing  hollow  gourds  and  calabashes  upon  the  branches  of 
trees  near  their  cabins.  It  is  generally  believed  that  this 
active  little  bird  is  capable  of  driving  away  hawks  and 
crows  from  its  vicinity  by  repeated  annoyances.  The 
custom  of  supplying  martins  with  a  shelter  has  of  late 
grown  into  disuse.  The  wren  and  the  bluebird  may  be 
encouraged  by  similar  accommodations.  But  as  tip 
two  species  are  not  social  in  their  habits  of  building,  like 
the  martin,  a  separate  box  must  be  supplied  for  each 
pair  of  birds.  The  wren  is  an  indefatigable  destroyer  of 
insects  and  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  our  familiar 
songsters.  The  bluebird,  which  is  not  less  familiar,  is 
delighted  with  the  hollow  branch  of  an  old  tree  in  an 
orchard,  but  is  equally  well  satisfied  with  a  box. 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE  AND   FOREST. 

III. 

THE   CUCKOO. 

Our  native  Cuckoos  have  not  the  free-love  instinct  of 
the  European  Cuckoo ;  and  Daines  Barrington  would 
have  been  delighted  to  quote  their  good  parental  habits 
as  an  argument  in  his  special  plea  for  the  European  bird, 
whom  he  considered  the  victim  of  slander.  The  Cow- 
bird  is  our  Cuckoo  in  the  moral  acceptation  of  the  term. 
The  American  Cuckoo  is  attached  to  its  offspring  in  a 
remarkable  degree,  and  rears  them  with  all  the  fidelity 
of  the  most  devoted  parents.  In  my  boyhood,  the  two 
severest  fights  I  had  with  birds  on  approaching  their  nests 
were  once  when  I  examined  the  nest  of  a  Bluejay,  and 
again  when  I  examined  one  belonging  to  a  Cuckoo.  The 
young  Cuckoos  were  equally  savage  when  I  attempted  to 
handle  them.  Yet  this  bird  bears  the  reputation  of  cow- 
ardice. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  American  Cuckoo,  though  a 
faithful  and  devoted  parent,  should  have  certain  peculiar 
habits  connected  with  laying  and  hatching,  that  bear 
some  evidence  that  the  European  and  American  species 
have  a  common  derivation.  The  habit  of  the  European 
bird  of  dropping  its  eggs  into  other  birds'  nests  is  proba- 
bly connected  with  continued  laying,  extended  to  a  greater 
length  of  time  than  with  other  birds.  The  same  fertil- 
ity has  been  observed  in  the  American  Cuckoos.  Mr. 
Audubon  mentions  the  peculiar  habit  of  these  birds  of 
laying  fresh  eggs  and  hatching  them  successively.     Thus 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST.  203 

it  would  seem  that  the  last-laid  eggs  were  hatched  by 
the  involuntary  brooding  of  the  young  which  hud  not 
left  the  nest.  Dr.  Brewer  has  "repeatedly  found  in  a 
nest  three  young  and  two  eggs,  one  of  the  latter  nearly 
fresh,  one  with  the  embryo  half  developed,  while  of  the 
young  birds,  one  would  be  just  out  of  the  shell,  one  half 
fledged,  and  one  just  ready  to  fly.  Subsequent  obser- 
vations in  successive  seasons  led  to  the  conviction  that 
both  the  Yellow-billed  and  the  Black-billed  Cuckoo  share 
in  these  peculiarities,  and  that  it  is  a  general  but  not 
universal  practice." 

Dr.  Brewer  mentions  an  interesting  fact  that  evinces 
the  strong  attachment  of  the  Cuckoo  to  its  offspring. 
Speaking  of  the  Black-billed  Cuckoo,  he  says :  "  Both 
parents  are  assiduous  in  the  duties  of  incubation  and  in 
supplying  food  to  each  other  and  their  offspring.  In  one 
instance  where  the  female  had  been  shot  by  a  thoughtless 
boy,  as  she  flew  from  the  nest,  the  male  bird  successfully 
devoted  himself  to  the  solitary  duty  of  rearing  the  brood 
of  five.  At  the  time  of  the  death  of  the  female,  the  nest 
contained  two  eggs  and  three  young  birds.  The  writer 
was  present  when  the  bird  was  shot,  and  was  unable  to 
interfere  in  season  to  prevent  it.  Returning  to  the  spot 
not  long  afterwards,  he  found  the  widowed  male  sitting 
upon  the  nest,  and  so  unwilling  to  leave  it  as  almost  to 
permit  himself  to  be  captured  by  the  hand.  His  fidelity 
and  his  entreaties  were  not  disregarded.  This  nest,  eggs, 
and  young  were  left  undisturbed  ;  and  as  they  were  visited 
from  time  to  time,  the  young  nestlings  were  found  to 
thrive  under  his  vigilant  care.  The  eggs  were  hatched 
out,  and  in  time  the  whole  five  were  reared  in  safety. 

The  Cuckoo  is  an  early  visitor.  His  voice  is  often 
heard  before  the  first  of  May,  proclaiming  that  "  the  spring 
is  coming  in,"  like  his  congener  in  England,  who  has 
always  been  regarded  as  the  harbinger  of  that  season. 


204  BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND    FOREST. 

His  note  is  not  strictly  musical,  yet  we  all  listen  to  the 
first  sound  of  his  voice  with  as  much  pleasure  as  to  that 
of  the  Bluebird  or  Song-Sparrow.  I  have  not  met  a  per- 
son who  was  not  delighted  to  hear  it.  It  may  be  called, 
figuratively,  one  of  the  picturesque  sounds  in  Nature,  re- 
minding us  of  the  resurrection  of  the  long-hidden  charms 
of  the  season.  The  Cuckoo  is  swift  in  his  flight,  which 
resembles  that  of  a  Dove  so  much  that  I  have  often  mis- 
taken them.  In  plumage  and  general  shape  this  bird  is 
like  the  Red-Thrush,  with  some  mixture  of  olive. 

THE   COWBIRD. 

Young  nest-hunters,  who  are  persistent  in  their  enter- 
prises, and  who  pursue  their  occupation  partly  from  ra- 
tional curiosity  and  not  from  mere  wantonness,  are  often 
surprised  on  finding  in  the  nest  of  some  small  bird  a  sin- 
gle egg  larger  than  others  in  the  same  nest.  In  my  own 
days  of  academic  truancy,  I  found  this  superfluous  egg 
most  frequently  in  Sparrows'  nests.  It  was  not  until  I 
had  made  a  large  collection  of  eggs  that  I  discovered  the 
parentage  of  the  odd  ones.  These  eggs  were  generally 
speckled ;  but  I  occasionally  found  a  large  bluish  egg 
among  others  of  the  same  color,  and  supposed  they  must 
contain  two  yolks,  save  that  birds  in  a  wild  state  seldom 
produce  such  monstrosities.  Can  it  be  that  the  Ameri- 
can Cuckoo  occasionally  follows  the  instincts  of  his  Euro- 
pean congener  ?  In  each  case  I  considered  the  spurious 
eggs  as*  lawful  plunder,  since  they  were  an  imposition 
practised  upon  the  owner  of  the  nest  either  by  some 
unknown  bird  or  by  the  Cowbird,  a  member  of  a  family 
which  are  too  aristocratic  to  rear  their  own  offspring. 
But  as  a  politician  of  the  speculative  class  I  feel  a 
peculiar  interest  in  the  Cowbird,  as  affording  me  an  op- 
portunity of  understanding  the  system  of  free  love,  as 
exemplified  in  the  habits  of  this  species. 


BIRDS   OF   THE  PASTURE   AND   FOREST.  205 

The  Cowbird  has  no  song.  Nature  seldom  furnishes 
any  creature  with  an  instinct  which  would  be  of  n<>  ser- 
vice to  the  species.  What  occasion  has  the  Cowbird  for 
a  song,  —  a  bird  that  neither  wooes  nor  marries,  —  a  bird 
that  would  not  sing  lullabies  to  its  own  young  ;  that 
cares  no  more  for  one  female  than  for  another,  and  whose 
indifference  is  perfectly  reciprocated?  As  well  might  a 
poet  write  Petrarchian  sonnets  who  was  never  in  love ;  or 
a  practical  plodder  write  amatory  songs,  who  asks  the 
members  of  a  church  whom  he  shall  marry.  There  is 
nothing  romantic  in  this  bird's  character.  His  love  is  a 
mere  gravitation.  Nature,  despising  his  habits,  has  not 
even  arrayed  him  in  attractive  plumage ;  for  why  should 
he  have  beauty  when  his  whole  species  are  without  the 
sentiment  that  could  appreciate  it  ?  The  Cowbirds  are 
the  free-love  party  among  the  feathered  tribes,  —  the 
party  also  of  communism,  who  would  leave  their  off- 
spring in  others'  hands,  that  they  may  have  leisure  for 
{esthetic  culture. 

"  This  species,"  says  Dr.  Brewer,  "  is  at  all  times  grega- 
rious and  polygamous,  never  mating  and  never  exhibiting 
any  signs  of  either  conjugal  or  parental  affection.  Like 
the  Cuckoos  of  Europe,  our  Cow-Blackbird  never  con- 
structs a  nest  of  her  own,  and  never  hatches  out  or  at- 
tempts to  rear  her  own  offspring,  but  imposes  her  eggs 
upon  other  birds;  and  most  of  them,  either  unconscious 
of  the  imposition  or  unable  to  rid  themselves  of  the  alien, 
sit  upon  and  hatch  the  stranger,  and  in  so  doing  virtually 
destroy  their  own  offspring;  for  the  eggs  of  the  Cowbird 
are  the  first  hatched,  usually  two  days  before  the  others. 
The  nursling  is  much  larger  in  size,  filling  up  a  larg 
portion  of  the  nest,  and  is  insatiable  in  appetite,  always 
clamoring  to  be  fed,  and  receiving  by  far  the  larger  share 
of  the  food  brought  to  her  nest;  its  foster  companio] 
either  starved  or  stifled,  soon  die,  and  their  dead  bodies  are 


206  BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST. 

removed,  it  is  supposed,  by  the  parents.  They  are  never 
found  near  the  nest,  as  they  would  be  if  the  young  Cow- 
Blackbird  expelled  them  as  does  the  Cuckoo  ;  indeed,  Mr. 
Xuttall  has  seen  parent  birds  removing  the  dead  young 
to  a  distance  from  the  nest  and  there  dropping  them." 

THE   REDWING-BLACKBIRD. 

In  early  spring  no  sounds  attract  so  much  attention  as 
the  unmusical  notes  of  the  Bed  wing- Blackbird  coming 
to  our  ears  from  every  wooded  meadow.  A  sort  of  cliip- 
cli  ip  ch  uree,  mixed  with  many  other  confused  and  some  gut- 
tural sounds,  forms  this  remarkable  chorus,  which  seems  to 
be  a  universal  chattering,  hardly  to  be  considered  a  song. 
Most  of  the  notes  are  sharp,  and  in  none  could  I  ever 
detect  anything  like  musical  intonation.  Sometimes  they 
seem  to  chant  in  concert  with  the  little  piping  frogs, 
though  the  sounds  made  by  the  latter  are  by  far  the  most 
musical.  Indeed,  the  Eedwing-Blackbird  never  sings, 
though  we  frequently  hear  from  a  solitary  individual  the 
sound  of  chip-churee. 

This  bird,  as  well  as  the  Cowbird,  is  a  free-lover, 
though  the  females  have  not  yet  declared  their  rights, 
and  their  communistic  prejudices  are  not  sufficient  to 
cause  them  to  refuse  to  rear  and  educate  their  offspring. 
In  early  April  assemblages  of  Redwings,  perched  upon 
trees  standing  in  wet  grounds,  constantly  chatter  in  mer- 
ry riot,  while  the  bright  scarlet  epauletted  males  strive 
to  recommend  themselves  by  music,  like  some  awk- 
ward youth  who  serenades  his  mistress  with  a  jewsharp. 
These  notes  seem  to  spring  from  a  fulness  of  joy  upon 
returning  to  their  native  swamps.  The  Redwings  un- 
doubtedly mate,  though  there  is  plainly  no  jealousy 
among  them.  Like  the  Otaheitans,  a  flock  of  birds  lias 
a  flock  of  wives,  the  true  wife  being  recognized  above 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST.  207 

the  others  only  while  rearing  their  young.  In  this 
respect  they  differ  from  the  gallinaceous  birds,  who  reso- 
lutely demand  exclusive  possession  of  all  the  females  and 
establish  their  right  by  might.  They  fight  until  the  con- 
queror is  left  to  be  the  sultan  of  the  flock. 

The  nests  of  the  Redwing  are  always  suspended  upon  a 
bush  or  a  tuft  of  reeds  in  a  half-inundated  meadow.  I  have 
frequently  found  them  in  a  button-bush,  surrounded  by 
water  ;  but  they  are  also  suspended  from  the  perpendicular 
stalks  of  cat-tails,  which  encircle  the  nests,  bound  to  them 
by  the  leaves  of  the  same  plant  or  any  other  fibrous 
material  which  is  near  at  hand.  The  Redwing  displays 
almost  as  much  dexterity  as  the  Baltimore  Oriole  in  the 
construction  of  its  nest,  which  is  always  firmly  woven  so 
that  it  is  not  easily  detached  from  its  position.  It  rears 
but  one  brood  in  a  season.  The  eggs  have  a  whitish 
ground  tinged  slightly  with  blue,  and  mottled  with  dark 
purple  blotches  irregularly  distributed.  The  Redwings 
are  resolute  defenders  of  their  nest  and  young,  both  par- 
ents manifesting  equal  anxiety  and  courage. 

Like  all  our  most  useful  birds,  the  Redwings  are  very 
mischievous,  consuming  Indian  corn  while  it  is  in  the 
milk,  and  thus  doing  an  incalculable  amount  of  damage, 
especially  at  the  South,  where  the  species  assemble  in 
countless  flocks.  Alexander  Wilson  has  seen  them  so 
numerous  in  Virginia  during  the  month  of  January,  as  to 
resemble  an  immense  black  cloud.  When  they  settled 
upon  a  meadow  their  united  voices  made  a  sound  which, 
heard  at  a  distance,  was  sublime ;  and  when  they  all  1 
together  upon  the  wing,  the  noise  was  like  distant  thun- 
der. He  took  particular  notice  of  the  glitter  of  their 
epaulets,  flashing  from  thousands  of  wings  from  this  vast 
assemblage.  At  the  North  they  are  seldom  numerous 
enough  to  do  any  extensive  damage,  and  they  arc  such  in- 
defatigable hunters  of  all  those  grubs  that  are  concealed 


208  BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST. 

beneath  the  surface  of  the  ground,  that  they  probably 
compensate  in  this  way  for  all  the  mischief  they  perform. 

THE   PURPLE   GRACKLE. 

High  up  in  the  pines  or  firs  that  constitute  a  grove 
outside  of  any  of  our  villages,  in  the  latter  part  of  April, 
small  flocks  of  Purple  Grackles   may  be  seen  gathered 
together  like  Hooks,  and  making  the  whole  neighborhood 
resound  with  their  garrulity.     They  are   not  very   shy 
birds,  seeming  hardly  conscious  of  the  enmity  with  which 
they  are  regarded  by  the  villagers  near  whose  habitations 
they  congregate.     They  become  every  year  more  numer- 
ous and  familiar,  their  numbers  increasing  with  the  ex- 
tension of  the  area  of  tillage.     In  no  way  is  the  truth  of 
the  Malthusian  theory  more  clearly  proved  or  more  plainly 
illustrated  than  in  the  habits  of  certain  species  of  birds. 
They  will  increase  in  spite  of  our  persistent  efforts  to 
exterminate   them,  unless  we  cut  down  our  woods  and 
thickets  to  deprive  them  of  a  shelter  and  a  home.     A 
single  model  farmer  or  landscape-gardener  may  do  more 
in  the  way  of  their  extermination,  by  keeping  his  grounds 
nice,  and  clear  of  undergrowth,  than  twenty  mischievous 
boys  with  guns  or  a  dozen  avaricious  farmers  with  their 
nets.    Birds  that,  like  the  Eobin  and  the  Grackle,  consume 
all  sorts  of  insects  they  can  find  upon  the  ground,  will 
increase  with  their  supply  of  insect  food.     If  we  wish  to 
stop  their  multiplication,  we  must  bury  every  fertilizer  six 
feet  deep. 

The  Grackles  are  intelligent  birds,  and,  though  ap- 
parently not  very  shy,  they  are  wise  enough  to  build 
their  nests  in  the  tops  of  tall  trees  which  are  difficult  of 
access,  choosing  an  evergreen  for  this  purpose,  that  they 
may  be  more  safely  concealed.  These  birds  have  been 
known  to  build  sometimes  in  the  hollows  of  trees ;  like- 


BIRDS    OF    THE    PASTURE    AND    FOREST.  209 

wise  inside  of  the  spire  of  a  church  and  in  martin-houses, 
Indeed,  Mr.  S.  P.  Fowler  thinks  that  as  human  population 

increases,  the  Grackles  are  gradually  assuming  the  habits 
of  the  English  Rooks.  Like  the  Rook,  they  are  naturally 
gregarious,  and  as  the  area  of  agriculture  is  expanded,  and 
woods  afford  birds  less  protection  than  formerly,  they  are 
disposed  to  seek  artificial  shelter  in  the  vicinity  of  towns, 
that  they  may  feed  upon  insect  food,  which  in  these  local- 
ities is  very  abundant. 

The  Purple  Grackle  has,  upon  examination,  very  beau- 
tiful plumage ;  for  its  black  feathers  are  full  of  various 
tints,  changeable,  according  as  the  light  falls  upon  them, 
into  violet,  purple,  blue,  and  green.  Wre  see,  however, 
nearly  all  the  same  varying  shades  in  the  plumage  of  the 
common  Cock,  when  it  is  black.  They  are  said  to  con- 
sume so  much  corn  as  to  seriously  injure  the  crop  wher- 
ever they  exist  in  large  numbers.  Still  they  are  so  use- 
ful as  to  deserve  not  only  protection,  but  encouragement, 
and  groves  in  which  they  can  nestle  without  disturbance 
should  be  saved  for  them. 

Like  the  Redwing,  they  assemble  in  large  flocks  in  the 
Southern  States.  According  to  Wilson,  the  magnitude  of 
their  assemblages  can  hardly  be  described.  In  Virginia 
he  witnessed  one  of  these  myriad  flocks  settled  on  the 
banks  of  the  Roanoke.  When  they  arose  at  his  approach, 
the  noise  of  their  wings  was  like  distant  thunder,  and 
they  completely  hid  from  sight  the  fields  over  which  they 
passed  by  the  blackness  of  their  multitudinous  flocks. 
He  thought  the  assemblage  might  contain  hundreds  of 
thousands.  The  depredations  of  such  immense  flocks 
upon  the  Indian-corn  crop  must  be  incalculable,  since 
they  are  known  to  attack  it  in  all  stages  of  its  growth, 
beginning  as  soon  as  it  is  planted. 

In  New  England  they  remain  only  during  the  bivcdin  - 
season,  when  it  is  a  well-established  fact  that  their  whole 


210  BIRDS    OF    THE    PASTURE   AND    FOREST. 

diet  consists  of  worms  and  insects.  Good  observers  who 
have  watched  them  here  testify  to  the  truth  of  this  asser- 
tion. They  do,  in  fact,  consume  but  little  corn  or  grain  at 
any  season,  save  when  they  cannot  find  a  sufficient  supply 
of  insect  food.  When  associated  in  such  vast  flocks  as 
described  by  Wilson,  they  are  necessarily  granivorous. 

THE   QUAIL. 

I  have  not  yet  seen  any  good  reason  for  denying  that 
the  Quail  is  a  Quail ;  nor  can  I  understand  why,  in  the 
new  classifications  of  birds,  the  marks  that  formerly  char- 
acterized species  are  now  used  to  characterize  genera.  Let 
us  pursue  the  same  philosophical  rule  to  its  final  results, 
and  we  shall  arrive  at  the  discovery  that  the  different 
varieties  of  the  common  fowl  constitute  so  many  genera, 
and  that  the  black  and  the  white  and  the  Seebright  Ban- 
tams, for  example,  are  species  of  the  genus  Galliparvus. 
But  the  Quail,  whether  it  be  itself  or  another  bird,  is 
now  a  rare  inhabitant  of  New  England.  Thousands  of  its 
species  were  destroyed  by  the  deep  snows  of  the  winter 
of  1856-57,  and  again  by  the  cold  winter  of  1867-68. 
Indeed,  every  winter  destroys  great  numbers  of  them. 
And  as  the  Quail  does  not  migrate,  and  never  wanders 
any  great  distance  from  its  birthplace,  I  cannot  under- 
stand, why  its  species  could  ever  have  been  numerous 
so  far  north  as  the  New  En  "land  States,  unless  the  vast 
•numbers  rendered  it  impossible  for  any  accident  of  Nature 
to  destroy  so  many  that  there  should  not  be  multitudes 
left.  But  since  the  white  man  came,  the  gun,  the  snare, 
and  the  winters  united  have  nearly  extirpated  the  whole 
race. 

For  many  years  past  I  have  seldom  heard  the  musical 
voice  of  the  Quail.  Seldom  is  the  haymaker  in  these 
days  reminded  of  the  approach  of  showers  by  his  procla- 


BIRDS   OF   THE   PASTURE   AND   FOREST.  2  1  1 

mation  of  "More  wet"  from  some  adjoining  fence.  NTol 
that  the  few  that  remain  are  no  longer  prophets,  but  they 
have  become  timid  from  the  persecutions  they  have  suf- 
fered, and  have  ceased  to  prophesy  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
farm.  Neither  does  the  Quail  any  lunger  make  known 
his  presence  to  his  mate  by  saying  in  musical  tones, 
"  Here  's  Bob  White."  He  knows  too  well  that  this  would 
lead  to  his  discovery  and  death.  Man,  too  short-sighted 
to  understand  his  own  selfish  advantage  in  protecting  the 
bird,  and.  too  avaricious  to  let  pass  the  opportunity  of  1  Hiv- 
ing a  feast  with  a  few  cheap  charges  of  powder  and  shot, 
will  give  him  no  peace. 

A  female  Quail,  leading  her  little  brood  under  the  shel- 
ter of  pines  to  escape  the  notice  of  those  who  have  intruded 
into  her  presence,  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  sights  in 
animated  nature.  The  rapidity  with  which  the  young 
make  their  escape  to  some  hiding-place  in  the  grass  or 
among  the  bushes,  and  the  anxiety  displayed  by  the  moth- 
er, cannot  fail  to  awaken  our  sympathy.  If  we  sit  still 
in  ambush  and  watch  for  them,  the  mother,  no  longer 
aware  of  our  presence,  gives  her  cheerful  call-note,  when 
they  all  suddenly  reappear  and  follow  her,  as  chickens 
follow  the  hen.  Their  timidity  and  their  expertness  in 
wending  their  way  through  the  thicket  and  then  out  on 
the  open  land,  and  their  nimble  motions  as  they  forage  in 
the  pasture  for  grubs  and  insects,  are  an  ample  reward  to 
any  sympathetic  observer  for  long  and  patient  watching. 

The  destruction  of  this  useful  and  interesting  speci 
by  our  winter  snows  is  a  public  calamity;  and  nothing, 
it  seems  to  me,  can  mitigate  the  evil  save  the  building  of 
artificial  shelters,  strewing  around  them  some  sort  of  grain 
to  prevent  their  wandering  far  away  from  them.  <  Mir 
farmers  have  not  sufficiently  considered  the  advanta 
they  might  derive  from  this  semi-domestication  of  tli'1 
Quail  and  some  other  species  that  winter  with  ua     Even 


212  BIRDS   OF   THE  PASTURE   AND   FOREST. 

if  this  protection  were  offered  them  only  that  their  sur- 
plus might  be  used  to  grace  our  tables,  it  would  be  found 
a  profitable  enterprise. 

THE   RUFFED   GROUSE. 

In  May,  if  we  were  to  wander  into  an  extensive  wood 
which  is  not  a  swamp,  at  a  sufficient  distance  from  any 
village  tavern,  we  should  probably  hear  the  drumming 
of  the  Partridge.  This  peculiar  sound  is  heard  early 
in  the  morning  and  late  in  the  evening,  becoming  more 
frequent  and  persistent  as  the  breeding-season  advances. 
It  is  made  by  the  male,  and  is  unlike  any  other  sound  I 
ever  heard.  I  cannot  compare  it  to  the  rumbling  of  distant 
thunder,  as  some  do,  because  the  sounds  of  thunder  are 
irregular,  while  the  strokes  of  the  Partridge's  wings  are 
perfectly  timed,  and  increase  in  rapidity  as  they  decrease 
in  loudness,  until  they  die  away  in  a  faint,  fluttering 
vibration. 

I  think  those  observers  are  mistaken  who  believe  this 
drumming  to  be  made  by  striking  or  flapping  his  wings 
against  his  sides  or  against  the  log  where  he  is  stand- 
ing.  Samuels  says  :  "  The  bird  resorts  to  a  fallen  trunk 
of  a  tree  or  log,  and  while  strutting  like  a  male  Turkey, 
beats  his  wings  against  his  sides  and  the  log  with  con- 
siderable force.  It  commences  very  slowly,  and  after  a 
few  strokes  gradually  increases  in  velocity,  and  ter- 
minates with  a  rolling  beat  very  similar  to  the  roll  of 
a  drum."  Dr.  Brewer  describes  the  sound  as  produced 
in  the  same  manner,  and  this  seems  to  be  the  universal 
opinion.  On  the  contrary,  the  bird  produces  this  sound 
by  striking  the  shoulders  of  his  wings  together  over  his 
back,  as  the  common  Cock  frequently  does  before  he 
crows,  and  as  the  male  Pigeon  does  when  after  dalliance 
with  his  mate  he  flies  out  exultingly  a  short  distance  from 


BIRDS   OF  THE   PASTURE  AND   FOREST.  213 

his  perch.  It  is  very  difficult  to  obtain  sight  of  the  bird 
while  he  is  drumming,  and  then  we  cannot  venture 
near  enough  to  see  his  motions  very  distinctly.  But 
whenever  I  have  gained  sight  of  one  in  the  act  of  drum- 
ming, he  seemed  to  me  to  elevate  his  wings  and  strike 
them  together  over  his  back,  increasing  the  rapidity  of 
these  strokes,  until  the  last  was  nothing  more  than  the 
sound  produced  upon  the  air  by  the  rapid  vibration  of  the 
feathers  of  his  wings  and  tail.  A  similar  vibrating  sound 
is  made  by  the  Turkey  with  his  tail-feathers  when  strut- 
ting about  the  yard  among  the  females. 

It  seems  very  improbable  that  the  Grouse  has  sufficient 
power  to  make  so  much  sound  by  flapping  the  concave 
surface  of  his  wings  against  his  downy  sides.  Birds  can- 
not move  their  wings  with  so  much  force  in  this  direction 
as  in  the  opposite  one ;  and  so  long  as  some  uncertainty 
exists  about  it,  it  is  the  wisest  course  to  reason  from  anal- 
ogy, and  to  conclude  that  the  Partridge  makes  this  sound 
as  similar  ones  are  made  by  certain  domestic  birds. 
Many  of  our  farmers  believe  that  this  bird  stands  on  a 
log  and  makes  the  drumming  sound  by  striking  the  shoul- 
ders of  his  wings  against  the  log.  Some  think  the  log 
must  therefore  be  hollow.  But  instances  are  well  known 
where  a  bird  has  selected  a  rock  for  his  drumming-place, 
when  the  same  sound  is  produced. 

As  the  flapping  of  the  wings  of  the  common  Cock  pre- 
vious to  crowing  is  a  mode  of  expressing  defiance,  the 
same  may  be  said  of  the  drumming  of  the  Partridge,  who 
before  and  after  his  drumming  struts  about  in  the  most 
amusing  way,  placing  himself  in  many  graceful  attitudes. 
All  these  actions  are  a  part  of  the  ceremony  of  courtship. 
They  always,  therefore,  excite  the  jealousy  of  other  males, 
who,  if  sufficiently  bold,  will  immediately  attack  the 
drummer.  The  conqueror  draws  in  his  train  the  great 
part  of  the  females,  and  becomes  their  favorite. 


SIMPLES  AND   SIMPLEES. 

When  chemistry  had  become  elevated  to  an  equal  rank 
with  the  other  exact  sciences,  physicians,  who  in  the 
days  of  alchemy  and  astrology  had  dealt  almost  exclu- 
sively in  simples,  discarded  from  their  practice  the  greater 
part  of  the  herbs  of  the  old  pharmacopoeias,  and  used  in 
the  place  of  them  the  more  certain  and  efficacious  prepa- 
rations of  the  laboratory.  The  metals,  in  the  various 
forms  of  oxides,  carbonates,  chlorides,  sulphurets,  and 
other  chemical  compositions,  were  proved  to  be  more 
decided  and  commensurable  in  their  action  upon  the 
human  system  than  roots  and  herbs.  Chemistry  took 
the  place  of  botany  to  a  great  extent  in  the  healing  art, 
and  caused  a  gradual  division  of  the  practice  and  the 
dispensation  of  medicine.  The  apothecary  assumed  the 
department  of  preparing  and  compounding  the  drugs  used 
by  the  physician  ;  and  as  the  medical  faculty  dropped  the 
general  use  of  simples,  the  dispensation  of  them  naturally 
fell  into  the  hands  of  certain  individuals  of  the  female 
sex.  They  became  the  conservators  of  ancient  medical 
notions  that  science  had  rejected,  and  gradually  intro- 
duced a  sort  of  domestic  practice  which  is  not  yet  entirely 
discontinued. 

They  were,  indeed,  the  traditional  followers  of  the  prac- 
tice of  the  early  physicians,  when  they  were  simplers  and 
astrologers,  and  administered  to  the  wants  of  those  people 
who  believed  the  herbs  of  the  field  to  be  the  only  safe 
remedies  for  disease.  Their  botanical  knowledge  was 
confined  to  the  mere,  identification  of  plants,  and  to  cer- 


SIMPLES  AND  SLMPLERS.  215 

tain  ancient  classifications  of  medical  herbs  made  on  a 
somewhat  arbitrary  principle,  and  dictated  by  a  love  of 
formal  arrangement  that  distinguished  the  learned  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  They  knew  the  "  Four  Great  Carminative 
Hot  Seeds,  and  the  Four  Lesser  Hot  Seeds;  the  Four 
Cold  Seeds,  and  the  Four  Lesser  Cold  Seeds ;  the  Five 
Opening  Eoots,  and  the  Five  Lesser  Opening  Eoots  ;  the 
Five  Emollient  Herbs;  the  Five  Capillary  Herbs;  the 
Four  Sudorific  Woods ;  the  Four  Cordial  Flowers ;  the 
Four  Carminative  Flowers,  and  the  Four  Resolvent 
Meals."  Here  was  a  botanical  arrangement  of  plants 
precisely  like  that  of  the  Five  Orders  of  Architecture. 
Though  extremely  artificial,- it  was  founded  on  the  real 
or  supposed  properties  of  the  plants  included  in  it.  Its 
formality  suited  the  taste  and  assisted  the  memory  of 
the  simplers.  They  could  understand  it,  and  they  were 
proud  of  their  knowledge,  because  they  derived  from  it 
an  important  consideration  in  their  own  village. 

There  was  no  danger  in  trusting  one's  health  to  the 
judgment  and  mercy  of  these  honest  women.  They  were 
not  guilty,  like  our  modern  inventors  of  patent  medicines, 
of  furnishing  a  powerful  drug  disguised  in  a  decoction  of 
some  popular  herb.  Their  teas,  syrups,  and  fomentations, 
their  lotions,  quilts,  diet-drinks,  and  electuaries,  were 
made  from  the  herbs  which  were  specified  among  their 
ingredients,  and  were  safe  even  when  injudiciously  ap- 
plied. They  dealt  in  no  dangerous  remedies ;  some  were 
only  cordial  beverages,  some  were  mild  emetics,  tonics, 
and  refrigerants,  and  very  many  of  them  were  entirely 
inert,  but  like  an  amulet  soothing  to  the  mind.  In  the 
days  of  our  grandmothers,  almost  every  garden  contained 
the  herbs  of  their  simple  dispensatory;  and  every  neigh- 
borhood was  graced  by  a  goodly  number  of  housewi 
who  were  versed  in  all  details  of  the  administration  of 
them.     In  these  old  gardens  were  mints  of  every  sort, 


216  SIMPLES   AND    SIMPLERS. 

basil,  rosemary,  fennel,  tansy,  spikenard,  blessed  thistle, 
and  saffron.  No  garden  was  considered  properly  furnished 
if  it  were  wanting  in  any  of  the  herbs  that  might  be 
required  by  the  sick  of  the  neighborhood.  Flowers  culti- 
vated for  their  beauty  were  also  the  occupants  of  these 
gardens;  roses,  in  particular,  which  were  as  needful  in 
their  dispensation  as  the  chief  of  the  cordial  herbs. 

The  mints  were  held  in  great  esteem  by  these  charita- 
ble dames.  They  paid  special  attention  to  spearmint,  — 
regarded  as  the  mint  of  mints,  —  the  smell  of  which  was 
believed  to  "  corroborate  the  brain  and  increase  and  pre- 
serve the  memory,"  and  it  was  venerated  like  one  of  the 
holy  herbs.  Hardly  less  value  was  affixed  to  the  basil, 
once  considered  a  "  royal  plant,"  on  account  of  its  ex- 
cellent properties.  It  is  remarkable  that  in  the  time  of 
the  ancient  Eomans  the  basil  was  believed  to  possess  the 
power  of  breeding  serpents.  Hence,  when  they  sowed 
the  seeds  of  this  plant  they  bestowed  curses  upon  it,  that 
it  might  be  dispossessed  of  its  nefarious  properties  by  their 
maledictions.  This  notion  did  not  descend  to  the  English 
people.  By  them  and  by  our  simplers  it  was  cherished 
for  its  sweet  smell,  which  was  "  good  for  the  heart  and 
the  head  "  ;  also  for  its  "  seed  that  cureth  the  infirmities 
of  the  heart,  and  taketh  away  sorrowfulness  which  comr 
eth  of  melancholy,  and  maketh  a  man  merry  and  glad." 
The  sweet-marjoram,  which  still  retains  its  popularity  as 
a  savory  herb,  was  famous  in  these  old  gardens,  and  then 
known  as  the  celebrated  "  Dittany  of  Crete."  At  present 
it  is  not  used  as  a  medicine  in  any  form ;  but  the  simplers 
believed  it  to  be  efficacious  in  restoring  the  sense  of  smell 
when  it  was  lost,  and  it  was  noted  for  its  vulnerary 
powers. 

Many  of  the  herbs  of  their  dispensatory  were  formerly 
dedicated  to  the  Virgin  or  to  some  worshipful  saint,  and 
were  considered  holy.     Probably  in  some  cases  their  sup- 


SIMPLES   AND   SIMPLERS.  217 

posed  medical  virtues  were  deduced  from  their  sanctity  ;  in 
other  cases  their  real  virtues  may  have  caused  them  to  be 
religiously  consecrated.  It  does  not  appear  that  sectarian 
prejudice  raised  any  distrust  in  their  Protestant  minds 
of  the  merits  of  a  plant  which  had  derived  its  sanctity 
from  Eoman-Catholic  usages.  Among  the  early  Romans 
plants  were  supposed  to  derive  their  virtues  from  some 
rural  deity  to  whom  they  were  dedicated ;  and  the  cura- 
tive powers  of  mineral  waters  were  attributed  to  the 
nymph  who  presided  over  the  spring;  and  those  who 
drank  at  the  fountain  worshipped  the  beautiful  goddess 
from  whose  divine  qualities  its  virtues  emanated.  When 
the  heathen  world  was  converted  to  the  religion  of  Christ, 
these  superstitions  changed  their  character,  but  were  not 
cast  aside.  Holy  wells  and  fountains  still  retained  the 
veneration  of  men  ;  but  their  virtues  were  ascribed  to 
saints,  and  not  to  water-nymphs. 

A  savor  of  romance  still  adheres  to  many  of  the  holy 
plants,  derived  from  the  incidents  that  led  to  their  conse- 
cration. The  costmary,  an  Italian  plant  not  uncommon 
in  our  gardens,  having  a  very  agreeable  aromatic  odor  and 
some  peculiar  balsamic  properties,  was,  on  account  of  the 
purity  of  its  fragrance,  dedicated  to  the  Virgin.  In  its 
sensible  qualities  it  unites  the  balm  and  the  tansy.  The 
blessed  thistle,  another  of  the  holy  herbs,  is  one  of  those 
plants  that  may  be  compared  to  certain  good  people  whose 
virtues  are  all  of  a  passive  sort,  and  who  are  chiefly  re- 
markable for  the  odor  of  sanctitv  that  distinguishes  them. 
Some  other  herbs  have  won  their  reputation  from  their 
supposed  identity  with  certain  plants  mentioned  in  Scrip- 
ture. There  are  likewise  holy  shrubs,  as  the  waybread  and 
the  wayfaring-tree,  —  names  highly  suggestive  and  roman- 
tic. Others,  like  the  witch-elm  and  the  witch-hazel,  are 
associated  with  divination  and  magic.  In  Great  Britain, 
where  the  habits  of  the  people  are  still  under  traditional 

10 


218  SIMPLES   AND   SIMPLERS. 


influences  in  a  much  greater  degree  than  those  of  the 
same  classes  in  this  country,  a  profound  respect  is  still 
paid  to  the  holy  herbs ;  and  bands  of  simplers  —  believ- 
ers in  the  panaceas  of  the  field  and  garden  —  still  con- 
tinue their  avocation  and  are  in  popular  repute  in  many 
old  English  towns. 

During  the  infancy  of  modern  science,  when  theology 
was  mingled  with  all  the  exercises  of  the  mind,  and  when 
it  was  believed  that  everything  was  created  for  man's 
especial  use,  all  plants  were  supposed,  as  a  doctrine  of 
religious  faith,  to  contain  some  qualities,  discovered  or 
undiscovered,  which  were  intended  by  Providence  for  the 
sustenance,  protection,  and  clothing  of  man,  or  for  the 
cure  of  his  diseases.  The  flowerless  plants,  now  known 
to  be  without  any  curative  properties,  were  then  exten- 
sively used  in  medicine,  from  the  pious  supposition  that, 
as  they  are  useless  for  food  or  for  employment  in  practical 
arts,  they  must  be  intended  by  Divine  Providence  for 
medicines.  In  that  romantic  era,  pillows  were  filled  with 
the  substance  of  a  kind  of  moss  which  was  supposed  to 
be  useful  for  procuring  sleep.  The  family  of  mosses  from 
which  this  substance  was  obtained,  in  accordance  with 
the  use  made  of  it,  received  from  the  early  botanists  the 
name  of  hypnum,  from  a  Greek  word  that  signifies 
"  sleep."  This  was  afterwards  combined  with  other  pro- 
ducts, such  as  poppy  leaves,  wormwood,  the  petals  of  the 
peony,  and  the  flowers  of  hops,  and  used  for  similar  pur- 
poses in  the  form  of  quilts.  These  substances  were  placed 
between  two  pieces  of  cotton  or  linen,  and  quilted  into  a 
cap  to  be  worn  on  the  head. for  the  headache.  They  were 
made  also  in  other  forms,  to  be  laid  upon  any  part  affected 
with  inflammation  or  nervous  pains. 

The  doctrine  of  signatures,  believed  by  the  whole 
Christian  world  in  the  Middle  Ages,  was  a  theory  of 
religious  philosophy,  and  shows  the  intimate  connection 


SIMPLES   AND   SIMPLERS.  219 

existing  in  that  era  between  theology  and  medicine.  Ac- 
cording to  this  theory  every  natural  substance  that  pos- 
sesses any  curative  power  indicates  by  its  external 
appearance  the  diseases  for  which  it  is  a  remedy.  The 
partisans  of  this  doctrine  affirmed  that,  since  man  is  the 
lord  of  creation,  all  creatures  are  designed  for  his  use  ; 
■and  that  therefore  their  properties  must  be  designated  by 
such  a  character  as  every  one  can  understand.  Hence 
turmeric,  or  Indian  saffron,  which  has  a  brilliant  yellow 
color,  indicates  thereby  its  power  of  curing  the  jaundice. 
By  the  same  rule  poppies  were  believed  to  be  a  cure  for 
diseases  of  the  head,  because  both  their  seeds  and  flowers 
form  a  head.  A  beautiful  flower  called  euphrasia,  or  eye- 
bright,  resembling  a  dandelion,  with  a  dark,  velvety  centre, 
was  used  for  diseases  of  the  eye,  because  this  dark  round 
centre  bears  a  likeness  to  the  pupil  of  the  eye.  In  this  doc- 
trine we  find  an  anticipation  of  the  homoeopathic  theory  of 
"  like  cures  like."  Nettle-tea  in  England  still  continues 
to  be  a  popular  remedy  for  nettle-rash. 

The  flowers  of  saffron,  of  a  bright  scarlet  color,  which 
are  administered  in  the  form  of  tea  for  scarlet-fever  and 
other  eruptive  diseases,  derived  all  their  reputation  from 
the  homoeopathic  doctrine  of  signatures,  expressed  in 
the  words  similia  similibus  curantur.  Hence  likewise  the 
celebrated  botanical  cure  of  hot-drops  administered  in 
fevers,  on  the  supposition  that  a  hot  disease  requires  a 
hot  remedy  ;  and  the  ancient  notion  that  the  hair  of  a 
mad  dog  will  cure  the  disease  caused  by  his  bite.  These 
analogies  have  been  indefinitely  extended.  The  blond- 
root  is  another  of  the  signature  plants.  Its  clusters  oi 
delicate  white  flowers  appear  in  April  in  dam])  shady 
places.  It  avoids  the  dee])  woods  and  seeks  the  prot 
tion  of  clumps  of  trees  near  a  brookside,  "where  the  soil 
is  deep,  and  the  situation  defended  by  a  natural  wall  or 
embankment.     Its  tuberous  root  is  full  of  red  sap  resem- 


220  SIMPLES   AND   SIMPLERS. 

bling  blood.  Hence  it  was  considered  the  natural  remedy 
for  all  blood  diseases.  It  is  seldom  used  in  modem  legit- 
imate practice.  The  liverwort  (Hepatica  triloba'),  a  beau- 
tiful early  flowering  anemone,  not  uncommon  in  our 
woods,  was  used  as  a  cure  for  liver  complaints,  from  the 
resemblance  of  its  leaf,  which  is  lobed,  to  the  folds  of 
the  liver,  and  of  its  mottled  hues  of  green  and  purple 
to  the  outward  colors  of  the  liver.  This  plant  is  still  in 
use  by  our  modern  simplers. 

In  the  use  of  the  five  capillary  herbs  we  trace  the  in- 
fluence of  the  doctrine  of  signatures.  All  these  herbs 
were  ferns  :  the  hartstongue,  black,  white,  and  golden 
maidenhair,  and  spleenwort.  These  plants,  when  they 
first  appear  above  the  ground,  are  covered  with  hairy 
down.  This  appearance  caused  them  to  be  credited  with 
efficacy  in  improving  the  growth  of  the  hair,  hence  named 
capillary  herbs.  There  are  three  distinct  species  of  maid- 
enhair in  this  catalogue,  —  the  black,  white,  and  golden, 
representing  the  colors  of  the  human  hair  in  childhood, 
manhood,  and  old  a^e.  The  stems  of  these  beautiful  ferns 
are  also  nearly  as  slender  as  hairs ;  another  signification 
of  their  proper  medical  use,  according  to  this  religious 
doctrine  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

The  fern  called  Lunaria,  or  moonwort,  was  held  in 
great  estimation,  from  a  peculiar  crescent  shape  of  the 
2oinno3  of  its  fronds,  as  a  cure  for  lunacy  and  all  diseases 
of  a  periodical  character,  especially  for  intermittent  fevers. 
This  crescent  shape  won  it  some  astrological  repute  ;  and 
in  order  to  preserve  its  virtues,  it  was  to  be  gathered  with 
a  sacred  observance  of  days.  The  moonwort  was  collected 
at  the  time  of  the  full  moon,  and  by  the  light  of  it,  or  its 
powers  would  be  of  no  avail.  Astrology  was  intimately 
blended  with  the  practice  of  medicine  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  no  less  than  theology,  and  many  an  herb  was  sup- 
posed to   derive  its  healing  powers  from  some  tutelary 


SIMPLES   AND   SIMPLEES.  221 

planet.  The  most  of  the  herbs  in  use  by  the  ancient 
simplers  were  mere  cordials.  There  were  othera  of  an 
entirely  inert  character  that  became  famous  from  certain 
marvellous  powers  attributed  to  them  by  astrology.  One 
of  the  most  remarkable  of  these  was  the  blue  vervain,  a 
conspicuous  plant  in  fallow  grounds  and  by-ways,  flower- 
ing in  August.  So  great  was  the  reputation  of  this  plant 
as  a  cure,  that  it  bore  the  name  of  "  simpler's  joy,"  though 
now  excluded  as  worthless  from  all  standard  pharmaco- 
poeias. The  vervain  was  tied  with  a  yard  of  satin  rib- 
bon around  the  neck,  where  it  was  to  remain  until  the 
patient  was  cured.  It  was  to  be  gathered  at  the  rising  of 
the  dog-star,  when  neither  the  sun  nor  the  moon  shone, 
and  with  the  left  hand  only.  When  thus  collected  it 
would  vanquish  fevers  and  other  distempers,  was  an  anti- 
dote to  the  bite  of  serpents,  and  a  charm  to  conciliate 
friends  after  estrangement. 

The  healing  virtues  of  many  other  herbs  were  ascribed 
to  the  planet  under  whose  ascendency  they  were  to  be 
collected,  and  not  to  any  intrinsic  properties  belonging 
to  them.  It  was  this  belief  in  planetary  influences  that 
gave  rise  to  the  custom  among  physicians  of  prefixing 
to  their  recipes  a  symbol  of  the  planet  under  whose  light 
the  ingredients  were  to  be  collected.  A  mistake  in  attend- 
ing  to  the  planetary  hour  would  render  these  substances 
entirely  inert.  This  fact  may  account  for  the  vast  num- 
ber of  inert  remedies  which  have  been  popular  in  all  ;i 
There  was  hardly  a  plant  in  medicinal  use  that  was  not 
believed  to  be  under  the  auspices  of  some  planet,  and 
which  must  be  gathered  in  strict  accordance  with  the  pre- 
scriptions of  medical  astrology. 

In  medical  history  nothing  is  more  remarkable  than 
the  pertinacity  with  which  mankind,  through  hundreds  of 
ages,  will  cling  to  a  supposed  remedy,  after  it  has  been 
repeatedly  tried  and  condemned  as  worthless  by  physi- 


222  SIMPLES  AND   SIMPLEES. 

cians.  Men  hug  their  medical  notions  in  as  close  an 
embrace  as  the  doctrines  of  their  religious  faith,  and  exer- 
cise their  reason  in  regard  to  the  one  no  more  than  in 
regard  to  the  other.  Indeed,  the  ancient  union  of  prophet 
and  physician  in  one  profession  caused  medicine  and 
religion  to  he  intimately  associated  in  the  minds  of  the 
people.  Hence  the  sanctity  of  an  herb,  caused  by  its 
consecration  in  certain  religious  ceremonies,  was  often 
considered  better  proof  of  its  efficacy  in  the  cure  of  dis- 
eases than  any  practical  experience  of  its  virtues.  The 
remedial  reputation  of  precious  stones  had  a  religious 
origin.  They  were  supposed,  on  account  of  their  purity 
and  splendor,  to  be  the  residence  of  good  spirits,  and  con- 
sequently useful  as  amulets  to  expel  disease.  These  fol- 
lies of  human  reason  have  not  been  wholly  confined  to 
the  ignorant.  The  celebrated  John  Wesley,  being  worn 
down  by  excessive  apostolic  labors,  visits  the  country, 
and  after  a  few  months'  rustication  is  greatly  relieved. 
He  records  this  fact  in  his  journal  as  the  triumph  of 
"  sulphur  and  supplication "  over  his  infirmities,  and 
attributes  his  cure  to  daily  prayers  and  a  plaster  of  egg 
and  brimstone,  rather  than  to  Dr.  Fothergill's  prescription 
of  "  country  air,  rest,  milk  diet,  and  horse  exercise." 

I  am  a  believer  in  medicines  and  in  medical  science ; 
and  though  quackery  is  a  fated  appendage  of  the  healing- 
art,  as  swindling  and  counterfeiting  are  the  inevitable 
accompaniments  of  trade,  and  though  it  continues  to  cause 
great  destruction  of  life,  the  loss  of  life  would  be  still 
greater  if  medicines  were  entirely  unknown  and  unem- 
ployed. But,  as  if  intended  as  a  safeguard  to  the  danger- 
ous arts  of  quacks,. Providence  has  benevolently  supplied 
the  fields  with  thousands  of  innocuous  herbs,  and  merci- 
fully endowed  mankind  with  faith  in  their  remedial  power, 
that  they  may  amuse  themselves,  when  sick,  with  harm- 
less decoctions  containing  the  semblance  of  physic  in  the 


SIMPLES   AND   SIMPLERS.  223 

guise  of  a  cordial  beverage.  Many  an  honest  person  who 
was  too  ignorant  to  believe  in  medicine  as  a  science  — 
considering  it  but  a  supernatural  gift  bestowed  exclusively 
upon  the  uneducated — has  been  saved  from  the  malprac- 
tice of  some  charlatan  by  his  faith  in  whiteweed  and 
marigold,  or  in  some  equally  harmless  herb  gathered  at 
the  rising  of  Sirius  or  under  the  waning  light  of  the 
moon. 

But  there  was  no  charlatanry  among  these  charitable 
dames  who  brought  balm  to  the  sick,  and  dispensed  their 
healing  gifts  without  price.  Some  jealousy  would  occa- 
sionally arise  between  them  and  the  learned  faculty,  from 
their  interference  in  each  other's  jurisdiction  ;  but  they 
were  seldom  placed  in  direct  antagonism.  The  balm, 
the  mint,  and  the  sage,  brought  to  the  patient  by  the  con- 
siderate nurse,  were  often  favorable  accompaniments  to 
the  medicines  presented  by  the  physician.  The  simplers 
made  the  study  of  plants  more  of  a  utilitarian  exercise 
than  our  present  students,  who  admire  flowers  as  beauti- 
ful objects,  and  study  them  as  connected  with  taste  and 
poetry.  The  modern  student  learns  their  technical  char- 
acters, and  examines  their  different  parts  as  aids  to  the 
understanding  of  science.  He  pays  but  little  regard  to 
their  medical  virtues,  which  in  most  cases  are  but  a  part 
of  the  romance  of  their  history.  The  experiments  made 
and  repeated,  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  the  virtues 
of  plants,  thousands  of  times  during  several  centuries, 
have  enlightened  the  physician  concerning  their  qualities, 
which  are  now  very  well  understood.  The  simplers,  how- 
ever, supposed  almost  every  plant  to  possess  some  quality 
designed  for  the  sanitary  welfare  of  the  human  race. 
Some  old  legend  was  associated  with  one,  and  some  holy 
tradition  with  another,  each  pointing  to  the  medical  and 
magical  virtues  attributed  to  the  plant  and  to  certain  ben- 
efits to  be  derived  from  it. 


224  SIMPLES  AND   SIMPLERS. 

The  herbalists  among  the  early  emigrants  of  Great 
Britain  must  have  been  greatly  bewildered,  when  they 
went  out  into  our  American  forests  to  seek  the  wild  plants 
of  their  own  native  isle,  and  occasional  unhappy  acci- 
dents arose  from  false  identification.  When  they  discov- 
ered a  plant  that  resembled  any  well-known  English  herb, 
they  speedily  declared  the  identity  of  the  two,  founding 
their  judgment  chiefly  on  the  sensible  qualities  of  the 
plants.  It  was  by  experiments  of  this  class  of  botanists 
that  the  virtues  of  many  of  our  indigenous  herbs  were 
determined.  Not  a  few  of  our  plants,  however,  owe  their 
medical  reputation  to  Indian  traditions. 

Among  the  recollections  of  my  early  life  is  that  of  the 
annual  appearance  of  the  herb-women,  —  vestiges  of  the 
ancient  class  of  simplers,  —  who  earned  a  livelihood,  in 
part,  by  gathering  and  carrying  to  market  herbs,  roots, 
and  flowers,  to  be  used  chiefly  in  the  preparation  of  "  diet- 
drink,"  a  kind  of  small-beer,  of  which  the  bitter  and 
aromatic  herbs  were  the  principal  ingredients.  In  these 
packages  were  strips  of  white-pine  bark,  which  in  its 
dried  state  gives  out  the  flavor  of  nutmegs,— slightly  bitter 
and  fragrant.  The  pitch-pine  was  also  plundered  of  its 
recent  shoots,  before  they  were  hardened  into  wood,  and 
tied  up  with  sweet-fern  and  the  spicy  leaves  of  the  bay- 
berry,  and  the  root  of  sassafras.  The  umbelled  pyrola,  or 
rheumatism-weed,  —  a  plant  that  bears  several  whorls  of 
bright  evergreen  leaves,  surmounted  with  an  umbel  of 
beautiful  nodding  flowers  of  purple  and  white,  —  also  the 
yarrow  and  the  roots  of  the  yellow  dock,  were  favorite 
ingredients,  combined  with  the  aromatic  leaves  of  the 
checkerberry  and  St.  John'swort.  These  careful  dames, 
in  the  latter  part  of  summer,  employed  themselves  in  col- 
lecting cordial  herbs  for  winter's  needs. 

The  herbs  formerly  gathered  by  the  simplers  are  now 
cultivated  in  gardens  devoted  to  this  special  purpose,  be- 


SIMrLES   AND   SIMPLERS.  225 

longing  chiefly  to  the  Shakers.  All  the  romance  attend- 
ing the  occupation  is  destroyed  by  this  change.  The 
herbs  are  now  pressed  into  cakes  and  sold  in  the  apothe- 
cary's shops. 

I  have  never  opened  a  package  in  which  the  slender, 
cordlike  roots  of  the  Aralia  nudicaulis  were  wanting.  The 
roots  of  the  aralia  closely  resemble  those  of  the  true  sar- 
saparilla, not  only  in  their  cordlike  shape,  but  in  their 
entire  want  of  any  medical  virtue.  It  is  remarkable  that 
this  entirely  inert  and  tasteless  root  should  be  the  only  in- 
gredient that  is  never  omitted,  and  proves  that  any  plant 
in  use  among  popular  remedies  maintains  its  repute  in 
proportion  as  it  is  destitute  of  medical  properties  of  any 
kind.  The  same  habits  prevail  among  the  semicivilized 
nations.  The  ginseng,  for  example,  which  is  as  inert  as 
so  much  white  paper,  is  regarded  in  China  as  a  medicine 
that  will  cure  all  diseases.  Tons  of  the  roots  of  this  plant 
are  annually  imported  into  that  country.  The  ginseng  is 
the  popular  panacea  among  the  Celestials,  and  is  held  by 
them  in  the  same  estimation  as  sarsaparilla  by  the  Ameri- 
cans. People  will  sometimes  take  efficacious  remedies, 
when  prescribed  by  their  physicians ;  but  no  substance  is 
mentioned  in  history  which  has  acquired  and  maintained 
general  popularity  for  any  number  of  years,  if  it  possessed 
any  medical  virtue  at  all.  All  curative  drugs  are  unsafe, 
and  if  combined  in  a  popular  nostrum,  soon  excite  mis- 
trust, on  account  of  accidents  that  happen  from  its  mal- 
administration. Many  a  patient,  however,  has  been  cured 
by  mercury  disguised  by  his  physician  in  a  preparation  of 
sarsaparilla,  without  suspecting  the  cause  of  his  cure. 

A  love  of  the  marvellous  also  increases  the  popular 
faith  in  inert  remedies.  This  innate  propensity  of  the 
human  mind  formerly  obtained  gratification  in  mythologi- 
cal and  magical  superstitions.     At  present  it   finds  more 

delight  in  mere  abstractions  that  take  no  definite  shape, 

10*  o 


226  SIMPLES   AND   SIMPLERS. 

In  the  early  ages  the  supposed  marvellous  effects  of  ni- 
hility were  attributed  to  some  planet,  deity,  or  saint.  Now 
they  are  equally  credited,  but  referred  abstractly  to  some 
hidden  and  mysterious  power  of  nature.  All  the  laws  of 
nature  are  inexplicable ;  but  nothing  satisfies  the  general 
craving  for  the  wonderful,  unless  it  be  impossible.  It  is 
not  considered  marvellous  that  a  few  grains  of  a  poison- 
ous substance  should  cause  death,  or  that  a  smaller  quan- 
tity of  it  should  cure  disease ;  but  if  it  should  be  affirmed 
that  an  infinitesimal  quantity  of  the  juice  of  a  plant 
whose  juices  can  be  swallowed  by  the  pint  without  any 
effects  upon  the  system,  will  cure  disease,  the  assertion 
gratifies  the  popular  appetite  for  the  marvellous,  and  is 
believed. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  these  old  superstitions  have 
spread  the  charm  of  romance  over  a  great  part  of  the 
vegetable  kingdom.  From  these  poetic  illusions  origi- 
nated the  ancient  floral  games  and  the  use  of  plants  in 
the  ceremonies  of  religion,  which"  is  the  great  fountain  of 
pure  romance.  The  supernatural  dangers  that  seemed  to 
attend  botanizing  excursions  of  old  enveloped  all  the  wood 
in  the  charm  of  mystery.  The  mandrake  was  a  plant 
whose  destruction  would  be  a  forewarning  of  death  to  the 
person  who  should  injure  it.  But  as  the  mandrake  was 
•believed  to  possess  some  excellent  properties  for  purifying 
the  blood,  which  were  indicated  by  its  red  sap,  it  was  very 
(desirable  to  be  obtained  as  a  medicine.  An  expedient 
was  therefore  adopted  by  the  people  to  obtain  possession 
of  the  plant,  without  implicating  themselves.  Its  roots 
were  fastened  by  a  cord  to  some  animal,  usually  a  dog, 
who  was  compelled  by  whipping  to  pull  them  up  from 
the  earth.  The  dog  was  afterwards  supposed  to  die,  as  a 
punishment  for  his  involuntary  act. 

In  these  days  we  admire  the  peony  as  a  splendid  flower, 
and  cultivate  it  in  our  gardens  for  its  beauty.     But  the 


SIMPLES   AND   SIMPLERS.  227 

ancients  imputed  supernatural  virtues  to  its  roots;  and 
as  no  medical  property  could  be  discovered  in  them,  they 
were  naturally  supposed  to  be  intended  for  a  charm.  I  >r. 
Darwin  writes,  that  even  in  his  time  bits  of  the  dried  roots 
of  the  peony  were  rubbed  smooth  and  tied  round  the 
necks  of  children,  to  hasten  the  growth  of  their  teeth. 
They  were  sold  at  the  shops  under  the  name  of  "  ano- 
dyne necklaces."  An  ancient  physician  highly  commends 
this  necklace  of  the  peony-root  for  the  cure  of  epilepsy. 

In  the  days  of  the  Pythian  oracles,  when  the  priest  i 
who  delivered  them  was  made  drunk  with  an  infusion  of 
laurel-leaves  before  she  prophesied,  the  sacred  regard  for 
the  laurel  in  the  popular  mind  must  have  equalled  the 
reverence  of  the  modern  devotee  for  the  shrine  of  the  Mr- 
gin.  The  use  of  this  decoction  in  the  temple  of  Apollo, 
who  was  the  god  of  music,  poetry,  and  the  arts,  probably 
gave  the  laurel-tree  its  reputation  as  a  crown  for  men  of 
genius,  and  still  later  as  a  general  crown  of  honor.  The 
laurel,  which  is  a  dangerous  narcotic,  was  never  much 
employed  as  a  medical  remedy  ;  and  when  it  ceased  to  be 
used  in  the  temples  for  purposes  of  divination,  it  was 
adopted  as  an  evergreen  for  the  brows  of  poets  and  heroes. 
But  the  age  of  romance  has  departed  with  the  age  of  my- 
thology, and  the  reverence  that  now  attaches  to  these 
ancient  superstitions  is  but  the  lingering  twilight  of  a 
beauty  that  has  passed  away  forever. 


ANGLING. 

I  have  often  thought  that  the  practice  of  angling  was 
so  intimately  connected  with  the  prospect  of  green  fields 
and  the  smell  of  fresh  meadows,  that  the  general  fondness 
for  the  sport  originated  in  a  great  measure  in  our  love 
of  nature.  I  am  so  far,  therefore,  from  considering  the 
angler  a  model  of  patience,  as  Dr.  Franklin  regarded  him, 
that  I  would  rather  look  upon  him  as  a  sort  of  indolent 
devotee  of  nature,  who  prefers  the  voluptuous  quiet  of 
this  sedentary  sport  to  the  more  active  hahits  of  the  gun- 
ner, the  botanist,  or  the  geologist.  There  are  individuals, 
undoubtedly,  who  delight  in  angling  from  the  love  of 
the  sport  itself.  Such  are  our  inveterate  fishers  around 
the  wharves  and  harbors,  and  who  are  generally  better 
acquainted  with  the  respective  flavors  of  the  different 
species  of  the  finny  tribe  than  with  fishes  as  subjects 
of  natural  history.  But  the  majority  of  anglers  will  be 
found  to  be  genuine  lovers  of  nature,  and,  like  old  Izaak 
AValton,  as  familiar  with  the  plants  that  are  growing  at 
their  feet,  as  with  the  little  shining  inhabitants  of  the 
lake  and  stream. 

I  am  not  of  that  sect  of  sentimentalists  who  would  con- 
demn angling  on  account  of  its  cruelty.  The  pangs  suf- 
fered by  a  little  fish  while  expiring  on  the  green  bank 
are  but  momentary,  and  probably  not  to  be  compared 
with  those  of  a  bird  when  first  taken  from  his  native 
haunts  and  shut  up  in  a  cage.  Fishes  are  but  feebly 
endowed  with  the  sense  of  feeling  or  touch,  and  have  a 
brain  so  small  as  hardly  to  afford  them  a  very  definite 


ANGLING.  220 

consciousness.  They  have  the  senses  of  sight,  of  he  ninj-, 
of  smell,  and  of  taste;  for  without  these  they  could  not 
provide  for  their  own  wants.  They  possess  a  very  low 
form  of  intelligence  and  sensibility,  and  may  be  severely 
cut  without  showing  signs  of  feeling.  If  we  wound  a 
bird,  he  may  lead  a  life  of  pain  and  misery  for  many 
weeks.  He  is  a  creature  of  warm  blood,  endowed  with 
intelligence  and  a  capacity  for  grief.  He  is  regarded  as 
the  companion  and  benefactor  of  man,  and  as  having  cer- 
tain inalienable  rights,  —  such  as  the  enjoyment  of  life 
and  liberty,  and  the  means  of  obtaining  a  livelihood. 
But  fishes,  the  voracious  devourers  of  their  own  vounsr. 
which  they  cannot  recognize  and  do  not  protect,  are  plain- 
ly incapable  of  mental  suffering,  and  may  be  taken  in 
unlimited  quantities  without  danger  of  causing  an  incon- 
venient scarcity.  Hence,  though  all  living  creatures  are 
more  or  less  endowed  with  a  power  of  feeling  pleasure 
and  pain,  and  have  a  certain  right  to  the  enjoyment  of 
life,  I  regard  the  destruction  of  a  fish  in  the  same  light  as 
the  killing  of  a  fly  or  the  trampling  on  a  worm.  I  would 
not  needlessly  destroy  an  insect  or  set  foot  upon  a  worm  ; 
but  I  believe  the  united  sufferings  of  a  thousand  fishes  in 
the  agonies  of  death  would  not  equal  the  pangs  suffered 
by  one  little  child  with  a  burnt  finger. 

There  is  no  other  sport  so  well  adapted  to  the  habits 
of  a  thoughtful  man  as  that  of  angling,  leading  him  out 
at  noonday,  under  the  shade  of  trees,  or  in  the  evening 
by  the  glassy  stream,  on  whose  mirrored  surface  he  may 
view  the  surrounding  hills  and  woods,  while  watching 
for  the  dimpling  movements  of  the  water  that  indicate 
the  nibbling  of  the  fishes.  There  can  be  no  more  delight- 
ful  recreation  in  serene  summer  weather,  when  the  heat 
of  the  atmosphere  will  not  permit  one  to  engage  in  im 
active  toil  or  amusement.  And  there  is  no  end  to  the 
pleasing  fancies  in  which  one  may  indulge   the  mind, 


230  ANGLING. 

while  listening  to  the  varied  notes  of  the  birds,  that  always 
frequent  the  borders  of  streams  and  lakes,  or  watching 
the  motions  of  some  little  animal  that  will  occasionally 
peep  out  upon  one  while  occupied  in  his  quiet  amuse- 
ment. 

When  we  are  seeking  pleasure,  it  is  not  necessarily 
the  prominent  object  of  pursuit  that  is  the  source  of  the 
principal  enjoyment  we  experience.  Our  object  may  be 
an  errand  of  business  in  itself  disagreeable,  and  our  pleas- 
ures may  spring  from  our  adventures  and  observations 
during  the  time  occupied  in  the  performance  of  the  errand. 
A  walk  is  seldom  interesting,  however  pleasant  the  scen- 
ery and  other  objects  on  the  road,  if  we  are  sauntering 
without  any  particular  aim.  But  if  we  have  gone  out  to 
accomplish  a  certain  purpose,  which  is  of  sufficient  impor- 
tance to  keep  up  our  resolution  to  proceed,  many  a  scene 
on  the  road  may  be  productive  of  a  high  degree  of  pleas- 
ure. Thus  it  seems  to  me  that  in  angling  the  pleasure 
of  the  pursuit  is,  in  almost  all  cases,  derived  from  collat- 
eral circumstances,  though  the  latter  would  be  nothing 
without  the  purpose  before  us  of  taking  our  finny  game. 

The  pleasure  of  angling  consists  in  having  some  agree- 
able purpose  to  occupy  the  mind  while  indulging  in  the 
voluptuous  sensations  that  attend  us  when  surrounded 
by  the  charming  accompaniments  of  green  fields,  fragrant 
woods,  and  pleasant  prospects.  To  sit  beside  a  stream 
for  half  a  day,  under  the  spreading  branches  of  an  oak, 
would  be  but  a  dull  amusement  for  the  most  enthusiastic 
lover  of  nature,  if  he  had  no  purpose  in  view  except  to  en- 
joy tire  mere  sensations  derived  from  surrounding  objects. 
But  let  him  throw  a  hook  and  bait  into  the  stream,  with 
the  intention  of  taking  a  few  fishes  to  grace  his  table  ; 
and  however  insignificant  their  value,  it  is  sufficient  to 
furnish  a  motive  for  watching  a  float  for  many  hours.  The 
expectations  which  are  thus  aroused,  and  the  agreeable 


ANGLING.  231 

exercise  of  the  attention  and  the  ingenuity,  with  the  addi- 
tional pleasure  derived  from  the  varied  scenery,  the  fresh 
odors  of  vegetation,  and  the  many  cheerful  sounds  from 
animated  nature,  unite  in  rendering  it  one  of  the  most 
interesting  of  employments. 

Though  I  have  never  been  a  skilful  or  inveterate  angler. 
the  review  of  my  angling  excursions  always  brings  be- 
fore me  some  of  my  most  pleasing  recollections.  Tin- 
stillness  of  the  occupation  prepares  the  mind  to  receive 
impressions  from  adjacent  scenes  with  singular  vivid- 
ness. The  sight  of  the  little  fishes,  as  they  are  darting 
about  anion"  the  lonsj  stems  of  the  water-lilies,  is  then  as 
pleasant  to  us  as  to  a  child.  We  watch  every  minute 
object  with  close  attention,  though  it  be  but  the  little 
water-beetles  as  they  whirl  about  on  the  surface  near  the 
shore,  or  the  minute  blossoms  of  the  potamogeton  that 
lift  up  their  heads  above  the  glassy  wave.  The  lighting 
of  a  butterfly  on  the  blue  spikes  of  the  pickerel- weed,  or 
the  humming  of  a  dragon-fly,  as  he  pursues  his  micro- 
scopic prey  among  the  tall  sedges  and  pond-weeds,  never 
fails  to  attract  our  notice  while  engaged  in  our  day-dream- 
ing occupation. 

While  watching  the  float  as  it  sails  gently  about  with 
the  wind,  occasionally  dimpling  the  surface  of  the  water, 
we  do  not  confine  our  attention  to  this  alone.  Not  a 
bubble  on  the  glossy  sheen  of  the  lake  or  the  flitting 
shadow  of  a  cloud  as  it  passes  over  the  sky  escapes  our 
notice.  Everything  that  moves,  —  everything  that  can 
be  seen  or  heard  excites  our  curiosity  as  in  the  still  dark- 
ness of  night.  When  the  fishes  are  inactive,  as  they  often 
are  during  the  heat  of  the  day,  we  have  little  to  do  except 
to  watch  and  observe  the  scenes  and  objects  around  us. 
At  such  times  our  attention  is  frequently  attracted  to 
something  that  hitherto  might  have  been  unobserved; 
and  the  squirrel  that  sits  watching  us  from  the  bough 


232  ANGLING. 

of  a  neighboring  tree,  the  little  "bird  that  is  busy  weaving- 
stems,  at  no  great  distance,  into  the  fork  of  a  hazel-bush, 
and  the  sober  cattle  that  have  waded  up  to  their  knees 
into  the  shallow  water,  are  all  observed  and  studied  with 
delight. 

But  the  amusement  of  angling  is  not  associated  with 
sedentary  observations  alone ;  it  is  also  connected  with 
many  interesting  excursions  in  quest  of  more  lucky  fish- 
ing-ground. How  often  has  it  led  us  into  delightful 
explorations  of  the  woody  boundaries  of  ponds,  carrying 
us  into  seemingly  impenetrable  thickets,  and  causing  the 
sudden  discovery  of  some  beautiful  or  curious  plant,  hith- 
erto unknown  to  us,  or  introduced  us  to  some  new  and 
rare  species  of  bird  or  quadruped.  It  was  on  one  of  these 
rambles,  by  its  musical  and  melancholy  cooings,  that  I 
first  discovered  the  wicker-nest  of  the  turtledove,  with 
its  solitary  egg,  in  the  branches  of  a  slender  white-pine. 
On  one  of  these  occasions,  also,  I  encountered  for  the  first 
time  the  drooping  fragrant  flower  of  the  Linnaea  borealis, 
that  exquisite  production  of  northern  climes,  which  is 
aptly  named  for  the  great  Swedish  botanist. 

But  the  exercise  alone,  with  the  continual  excitement 
of  the  curiosity,  is  sufficient  to  give  interest  to  these  ex- 
cursions. Now  we  are  led  into  green  wood-paths,  through 
fragrant  bushes,  some  laden  with  flowers  and  others  with 
fruit ;  now  half  bewildered  by  their  intricacies,  and  then 
suddenly  stumbling  into  a  romantic  view  of  the  water  and 
the  surrounding  scenery.  Soon  we  pass  into  a  deep  dell, 
forming  the  bed  of  a  stream,  which  has  given  rise  to  a 
multitude  of  rare  and  curious  plants,  and  rouse  the  varie- 
gated summer  duck  from  a  solitary  pool,  embosomed  in 
the  thicket ;  finally,  having  arrived  at  an  open  pasture,  a 
flock  of  sheep,  startled  at  our  approach,  scamper  off  with 
resounding  feet  to  a  distant  elevation.  Then  do  we  think 
with  peculiar  delight  upon  the  pleasures  of  rural  life, 


ANGLING.  23 


•> 


and  regret  that  necessity  which  is  ever  leading  us  away 
from  the  abodes  of  peace  and  happiness.  Alter  perform- 
ing a  tour  around  the  pond,  we  return  perhaps  to  our 
original  fishing-ground,  pleased  with  the  simple  adven- 
tures we  have  encountered,  and  prepared  to  commence 
anew  our  patient  toil. 

As  the  decline  of  day  begins  to  be  apparent,  the  fishes 
are  more  active  in  their  nibbling,  and  there  is  a  more  gen- 
eral stir  among  all  the  creatures  of  the  field  and  wood. 
The  thrushes  are  more  musical  in  the  neighboring  thicket, 
and  the  yellow-throat  comes  within  a  few  yards  of  us, 
and  sings  upon  the  branch  of  an  alder-bush,  as  if  he  was 
pleased  with  our  company.  The  frogs  begin  to  be  more 
loquacious,  and  our  attention  is  attracted  by  different 
objects  from  those  we  observed  at  noonday  or  in  the 
morning.  A  tortoise  now  and  then  protrudes  its  beak 
and  eyes  above  the  smooth  sheen  of  the  water,  a  little  fish 
leaps  out  and  makes  a  sudden  plash,  or  a  solitary  snipe, 
with  twittering  notes,  pursues  its  graceful  flight  along  the 
shore. 

At  this  time  our  luck  as  fishermen  is  usually  the  most 
propitious.  The  fishes  that  seem  averse  to  the  warm 
rays  of  the  sun  come  out  of  deep  water,  as  day  declines, 
and  look  out  for  their  prey,  and  are  more  active  in  nib- 
bling the  bait.  After  this  time,  in  the  space  of  half 
an  hour,  we  often  take  fishes  enough  to  make  amends  for 
any  previous  bad  luck.  Presently  the  float  grows  dim  to 
the  sight,  the  dew  is  perceptible  on  the  grass,  and  the 
evening  star,  as  it  shines  through  the  semicircle  of  light 
that  surrounds  the  place  where  the  sun  went  down, 
reminds  us  of  home. 

"We  prepare  for  our  return,  and  for  a  change  of  scene 
and  rest  from  our  weariness  ;  and  home  is  never  so  de- 
lightful as  it  seems  after  one  of  these  excursions.     Th 
is  a  luxury  in  our  rest  from  toil  which  has  been  wearying 


234  ANGLING. 

but  not  exhausting;  and  the  pleasures  of  social  inter- 
course with  our  domestic  circle  are  also  greatly  enhanced 
by  a  half-day's  solitude.  We  partake  of  the  bounties  of 
our  own  table  with  a  zest  that  proves  it  to  be  the  design 
of  Nature  that  man  should  toil  for  his  subsistence  if 
he  means  to  enjoy  the  good  things  of  her  bounty.  Thus 
terminates  an  amusement  that  brings  us  nearer  to  nature 
while  we  are  engaged  in  it,  that  leads  to  pleasant  obser- 
vations and  tranquil  musings,  while  it  prepares  the  mind 
to  feel  a  renewed  pleasure,  when,  wearied  but  not  ex- 
hausted, we  seek  rest  in  the  bosom  of  our  family. 


AUGUST. 

The  plains  and  uplands  are  green  with  a  second  growth 
of  vegetation,  and  nature  is  rapidly  repairing  the  devas- 
tation, committed  by  the  scythe  of  the  mower.  But  the 
work  of  the  haymaker  is  not  completed.  He  is  still 
swinging  his  scythe  among  the  tall  sedge-grasses  in  the 
lowlands  ;  and  the  ill-fated  flowers  of  August  may  be 
seen  lying  upon  the  greensward  among  the  prostrate 
herbage.  The  work  of  the  reapers  is  also  begun,  and 
the  sheaves  of  wheat  and  rye  display  their  wavy  rows 
to  gladden  and  bless  the  husbandman.  Flocks  of  quails, 
reared  since  the  opening  of  the  spring  flowers,  are  dili- 
gent among  the  fields,  after  the  reapers  have  left  their 
tasks.  They  may  be  seen  slyly  and  silently  creeping 
along  the  ground,  and  now  and  then  lifting  their  timid 
heads  as  if  jealous  of  our  approach.  The  loud  whistling 
of  the  guardian  of  the  flock,  perched  at  a  short  distance 
upon  a  wall,  may  also  be  heard,  and  as  we  saunter  care- 
lessly along  the  field-path,  a  brood  of  partridges,  rising 
suddenlv  almost  from  under  our  feet,  will  often  astound 
our  ears  with  their  loud  whirring  flight. 

Since  the  fading  of  the  roses,  the  birds  have  generally 
become  silent,  as  if  the  presence  of  these  flowers  were 
necessary  to  inspire  them,  with  song.  They  have  grown 
timid  and  have  forsaken  their  usual  habits,  no  longer 
warbling  at  the  season's  feast  or  rejoicing  in  the  heyday 
of  love.  They  fly  no  longer  in  pairs,  but  assemble  in 
flocks,  which  may  be  seen  rising  and  settling  over  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  landscape.     Some  species  are  irregularly 


236  AUGUST. 

scattered,  while  others  gather  into  multitudinous  flocks, 
and  seem  to  be  enjoying  a  long  holiday  of  festivities, 
while  preparing  to  leave  their  native  fields.  Their  songs, 
lasting  only  during  the  period  of  love,  are  discontinued 
since  it  is  past,  and  their  young  are  no  longer  awaiting 
their  care.  On  every  new  excursion  into  the  fields  I 
perceive  the  sudden  absence  of  some  important  woodland 
melodist.  During  the  interval  between  midsummer  and 
early  autumn  one  voice  after  another  drops  away,  until 
the  little  song-sparrow  is  left  again  to  warble  alone  in  the 
fields  and  gardens,  where  he  sang  the  earliest  hymn  of 
rejoicing  over  the  departure  of  winter. 

Since  the  birds  have  become  silent,  they  have  lost  their 
pleasant  familiarity  with  man,  and  have  acquired  an 
unwonted  shvness.  The  warblers  that  were  wont  to  sin^ 
on  the  boughs  just  over  our  heads,  or  at  a  short  distance 
from  our  path,  now  keep  at  a  timid  distance,  chirping 
with  a  complaining  voice,  and  flee  at  our  approach,  before 
we  are  near  enough  to  observe  their  altered  plumage. 
The  plovers  have  come  forth  from  the  places  where  they 
reared  their  young  and  congregate  in  large  flocks  upon 
the  marshes ;  and  as  we  stroll  along  the  sea-shore,  we  are 
often  agreeably  startled  by  the  sudden  twittering  flight 
of  these  graceful  birds,  aroused  from  their  haunts  by  our 
unexpected  intrusion. 

It  is  now  almost  impossible  for  the  rambler  to  pene- 
trate some  of  his  old  accustomed  paths  in  the  lowlands, 
so  thickly  are  they  interwoven  with  vines  and  trailing 
herbs.  Several  species  of  cleavers  with  their  slender 
prickly  branches  form  a  close  network  among  the  ferns 
and  rushes  ;  and  the  smilax  and  blackberry  vines  weave 
an  almost  impenetrable  thicket  in  our  ancient  pathway. 
The  fences  are  festooned  with  the  blue  flowers  of  the 
woody  nightshade  and  the  more  graceful  plants  of  the 
glycine  are  twining  among  the  faded  flowers  of  the  elder 


AUGUST.  237 

and  viburnum.  The  lowlands  were  never  more  delightful 
than  at  the  present  time,  affording  many  a  pleasant  arbor 
beneath  the  shrubbery,  where  the  waters  have  dried  away 
and  left  the  greensward  as  sweetly  scented  as  a  bower 
of  honeysuckles.  In  these  places  are  we  tempted  to 
linger  for  refreshment  on  summer  noondays, —  bowers 
where  it  is  delightful  to  repose  beneath  the  shade  of  slen- 
der birches  whose  tremulous  foliage  seems  to  whisper  to 
us  some  pleasant  messages  of  peace.  All  around  us  the 
convolvulus  has  trailed  its  delicate  vines,  and  hung  out 
its  pink  and  striped  bell-flowers;  and  the  clematis  has 
formed  an  umbrageous  trellis-work  over  the  tops  of  the 
trees.  Its  white  clustering  blossoms  spread  themselves 
out  in  triumph  above  the  clambering  grape-vines,  form- 
ing deep  shades  which  the  sun  cannot  penetrate,  over- 
hanging and  overarching  the  green  paths  that  lead  through 
the  lowland  thickets. 

When  the  pale  orchis  of  the  meads  is  dead,  and  the  red 
lily  stands  divested  of  its  crown ;  when  the  arethusa  no 
longer  bends  its  head  over  the  stream,  and  the  later  vio- 
lets  are  weeping  incense  over  the  faded  remnants  of  their 
lovely  tribe,  then  I  know  that  the  glory  of  summer  lias 
departed,  and  I  look  not  until  the  coming  of  the  asters 
and  the  goldenrods  to  see  the  fields  again  robed  in  beauty. 
The  meeker  flowers  have  perished  since  the  singing-birds 
have  discontinued  their  son^s,  and  the  last  rose  of  summer 
may  be  seen  in  solitary  and  melancholy  beauty,  —  the 
lively  emblem  of  the  sure  decline  of  all  the  beautiful  ob- 
jects of  this  life,  the  lovely  symbol  of  beauty's  frailty  and 
its  transientness.  When  the  last  rose  is  gone,  I  look 
around  with  sadness  upon  its  late  familiar  haunts  ;  I  feel 
that  summer's  beauty  now  is  past,  and  sad  mementos 
rise  where'er  I  tread. 

It  is  my  delight  to  seek  these  last-born  of  the  ros 
and  to  my  sight  they  are  more  beautiful  than  any  that 


238  AUGUST. 

preceded  them,  as  if  Nature,  like  a  partial  mother,  had 
lavished  her  best  gifts  upon  these  her  youngest  children. 
The  bushes  that  support  them  are  overtopped  by  other 
plants,  that  seem  to  feel  an  envious  delight  in  concealing 
them  from  observation,  but  they  cannot  blot  them  from 
our  memory,  nor  be  admired  as  we  admire  them.  The 
clethra  with  its  white  odoriferous  flowers,  and  the  button- 
bush  with  its  elegant  globular  heads,  strive  vainly  to  equal 
them  in  fragrance  or  beauty.  The  proud  and  scornful 
thistle  rears  its  head  close  by  their  side,  and  seems  to 
mock  at  the  fragility  of  these  lovely  flowers ;  but  the  wild 
briar,  though  its  roses  have  faded,  still  gives  out  its  undy- 
ing perfume,  as  if  the  essence  of  the  withered  flowers 
lingered  about  their  former  leafy  habitation,  like  spirits 
about  the  places  they  loved  in  their  lifetime. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  month  we  begin  to  mark  the 
approaching  footsteps  of  autumn.  Twilight  is  chill,  and 
we  perceive  the  greater  length  of  the  nights  and  evening's 
earlier  dew.  The  morning  sun  is  later  in  the  heavens, 
and  sooner  tints  the  fleecy  clouds  of  evening.  The  bright 
verdure  of  the  trees  has  faded  to  a  more  dusky  green  ; 
and  here  and  there  in  different  parts  of  the  woods  may  be 
found  a  sere  and  yellow  leaf,  like  the  white  hairs  that  are 
interspersed  among  the  dark-brown  tresses  of  manhood, 
that  indicate  the  sure  advance  of  hoary  years.  The  fields 
of  ripe  and  yellow  grain  gleam  through  the  open  places  in 
the  woods,  making  a  pleasant  contrast  with  their  green- 
ness, displaying  in  the  same  instant  the  signs  of  a  cheer- 
ful harvest  and  the  melancholy  decay  of  vegetation. 
The  swallows  assemble  their  little  hosts  upon  the  roofs 
and  fences,  preparing  for  their  annual  migration,  and  all 
things  announce  the  speedy  decline  of  summer. 

Already  do  I  hear  at  nightfall  the  chirping  of  the 
cicadas,  whose  notes  are  at  the  same  time  the  harvest 
hymn  of  nature  and  a  dirge  over  the  departure  of  flowers. 


AUGUST.  230 

When  the  evenings  are  perceptibly  lengthened  and  the 
air  partakes  of  the  exhilarating  freshness  of  autumn, 
these  happy  insects  commence  their  anthems  of  gladm 
and  their  monotonous  but  agreeable  melody  is  in  sweel 
unison  with  the  general  serenity  of  nature.  These  voices 
come  from  myriads  of  cheerful  hearts,  but  there  is  a  plain- 
tiveness  in  their  modulation  that  calls  up  the  memory  of 
the  past  and  turns  our  thoughts  inwardly  upon  almost 
forgotten  joys  and  sorrows.  How  different  are  our  emo- 
tions from  those  awakened  by  the  notes  of  the  piping 
frogs  that  hail  the  opening  of  spring  !  All  these  sounds, 
though  not  designed  particularly  for  our  benefit,  are 
adapted  by  nature  to  harmonize  agreeably  with  our  feel- 
ings, and  there  is  a  soothing  and  lulling  influence  in  the 
song  of  the  cicadas  that  softens  into  tranquillity  the  mel- 
ancholy it  inspires  and  tempers  all  our  sadness  into  pleas- 
ure. 

We  no  longer  perceive  that  peculiar  charm  of  spring 
vegetation,  that  comes  from  the  health  and  freshness 
of  every  growing  thing  ;  and  we  associate  the  flowers  of 
August  with  the  dry,  withered,  and  dying  plants  that 
everywhere  surround  them.  In  June  everything  in  the 
aspect  of  nature  is  harmonious  ;  all  is  greenness  and  glad- 
ness, and  nothing  appears  in  company  with  the  flowers  to 
disfigure  their  charms  or  to  affect  the  sight  with  dis- 
pleasure. But  August  presents  a  motley  spectacle  of 
rank  and  inelegant  weeds,  that  overshadow  the  flowers ; 
and  the  beauty  of  the  fields  is  often  hidden  by  the  with- 
ered vegetation  of  the  last  month.  This  appearance,  how- 
ever, is  chiefly  obvious  in  those  places  which  have  been 
disturbed  by  cultivation.  In  the  wilds  Nature  always 
preserves  the  harmony  of  her  seasons.  Every  hero  and 
flower  appears  at  proper  time;  and  when  one  species  lias 
attained  maturity  it  gives  place  to  its  rightful  successors 
without  any  confusion,  all  rising  and  declining  like  the 


240  AUGUST. 

heavenly  hosts  of  night,  and  clothing  the  face  of  the  land- 
scape in  perpetual  bloom  and  verdure.  Seldom  do  we 
behold  a  parterre  that  equals  in  beauty  those  half-wild 
spots  where,  after  a  partial  clearing  of  the  forest,  Xature 
has  been  left  to  herself  a  sufficient  time  to  recover  from 
the  effects  of  art  and  to  rear  those  plants  which  are  best 
fitted  for  the  soil  and  the  season. 

Let  the  lover  of  flowers  and  landscapes  who  would 
learn  to  gather  round  his  dwelling  all  those  rural  beauties 
that  will  meet  and  blend  in  harmony  receive  his  lesson 
from  Xature  in  her  own  wilds.  Let  him  look  upon  her 
countenance  before  it  has  been  disfigured  by  a  barbarous 
art,  to  acquire  his  ideas  of  beauty  and  propriety,  and  he 
will  never  mar  her  features  by  adding  gems  that  do  not 
harmonize  with  their  native  expression,  plucked  from 
the  bosom  of  a  foreign  clime.  Then,  although  he  may 
not  sit  under  the  shade  of  the  palm  or  the  myrtle,  or 
roam  among  sweet-scented  orange-groves,  in  the  climate 
of  northern  fruits  and  northern  flowers,  he  needs  no  for- 
eign trees  or  shrubbery  to  decorate  his  grounds  or  to 
adapt  them  to  his  pleasures.  In  a  forest  of  his  own 
native  pines  he  may  find  an  arbor  in  summer  and  a 
shelter  in  winter  as  odoriferous  as  a  grove  of  cinnamon 
and  myrtle  ;  and  the  fruits  of  his  own  orchards  will  yield 
him  a  repast  more  savory  than  the  products  of  the 
Indies. 


FORAGING  HABITS   OF  BIRDS. 

The  different  habits  of  foraging  that  distinguish  the 
several  tribes  and  species  of  birds  deserve  attention  as 
indicating  a  similar  difference  in  the  character  of  their 
aliment.  Birds,  for  example,  that  take  their  food  chiefly 
from  the  surface  of  the  ground  forage  in  a  different  man- 
ner from  others  that  collect  it  from  under  the  surface. 
Swallows  catch  all  their  food  while  on  the  wing,  and  give 
proof  by  this  habit  that  they  take  only  winged  insects ; 
but  their  manners  differ  essentially  from  those  of  the 
fly-catchers,  that  do  not  take  their  prey  on  the  wing,  but 
seize  it  as  it  passes  by  their  perch.  Robins  and  black- 
birds gather  their  fare  entirely  from  the  ground,  but  their 
ways  while  seeking  it  differ  exceedingly.  Their  respec- 
tive habits  of  foraging  are  adapted  to  the  successful 
pursuit  of  the  worms  and  insects  that  constitute  their 
principal  diet.  Though  both  species  are  consumers  of 
all  kinds  of  insects,  they  have  their  preferences,  winch 
are  the  chief  objects  of  their  pursuit.  It  is  necessary  to 
study  their  different  habits  of  foracdncr  to  understand  the 
principle  which  I  have  endeavored  to  inculcate,  that  each 
species  'performs  certain  services  in  the  economy  of  natvr<\ 
which  cannot  he  so  well  accomplished  by  any  other  sped 
and  that  it  is  necessary  for  this  end  to  preserve  all  in 
such  proportions  as  would  spontaneously  exist  if  the 
whole  feathered  race  were  unmolested  and  left  to  their 
own  natural  chances  of  living  and  multiplying. 

The    sylviaus    are   the    most   interesting    of    foragers 
among  the   smaller  birds,  and  are  remarkable  for  their 
u  p 


242  FORAGING   HABITS   OF   BIRDS. 

diligence  in  limiting  their  prey.  They  have  a  peculiar 
way  of  examining  the  foliage  and  blossoms  rather  than 
the  surface  of  the  branches,  and  their  motions  are  very 
conspicuous  upon  the  outer  parts  of  the  trees  near  the 
extremity  of  the  spray.  The  golden  robin  hunts  his  prey 
like  the  sylvians,  though  he  is  not  one  of  them,  and  his 
motions  are  more  rapid  and  energetic  than  theirs. 

The  wren,  the  creeper,  and  the  chickadee  seek  their 
food  while  creeping  round  the  branches,  and  take  less  of 
it  from  the  foliage  than  the  sylvians  or  the  flycatchers. 
They  seldom  pause  in  their  circuitous  course,  proceeding 
usually  from  the  junctions  of  the  branches  to  their  ex- 
tremities, hopping  from  spray  to  spray,  and  then  passing 
to  another  tree.  The  sylvians  appear  to  examine  the 
leaves  and  blossoms,  while  the  creepers  and  tomtits  exam- 
ine the  bark  of  the  tree.  Hence  the  former  do  not  pro- 
long their  stay  with  us  after  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  while  the 
other  species  are  seen  after  the  trees  are  entirely  denuded. 
We  may  infer,  therefore,  that  the  sylvians  feed  chiefly 
upon  beetles  and  other  winged  insects  that  devour  the 
leaves  of  trees,  while  the  creepers  and  tomtits  take  more 
insects  in  embryo,  which  during  autumn  and  winter  are 
half  concealed  in  the  bark  of  trees. 

The  habits  of  the  flycatchers  differ  from  those  of  any 
-of  the  species  above  named.  Let  us  take  the  pewee  as 
an  example.  He  sits  on  a  twig  almost  without  motion, 
but  with  a  frequent  sideling  of  the  head,  indicating  his 
watchfulness.  He  does  not  seem  so  diligent  as  the  sylvi- 
ans, because  he  waits  for  his  prey  to  come  to  him,  and 
seeks  for  it  only  by  carefully  awaiting  its  approach. 
That  he  is  not  idle  is  shown  by  his  frequent  flitting  out 
in  an  irregular  circuit,  and  immediately  returning  to  his 
perch  with  a  captured  insect.  These  salient  flights  are 
very  numerous,  and  he  often  turns  a  somerset  in  the  act 
of  capturing  his  prey.     He  seldom  misses  his  aim,  and 


FORAGING   HABITS   OF   BIRDS. 

probably  collects  from  ten  to  fifteen  insects  of  an  appi 
eiable  size  every  minute.    As  he  lives  entirely  upoo  them, 
and  in  summer  gathers  them  for  his  offspring,  this  is  no 
extravagant  estimate. 

The  pewee,  however,  does  not  catch  all  his  prey  while 
it  is  Hying,  but  he  is  usually  on  the  wing  when  he  takes  it. 
If  he  finds  a  moth  or  a  beetle  upon  a  leaf  or  a  branch,  lie 
seizes  it  while  he  is  poised  in  the  air.  A  sylvian  would 
creep  along  the  branch,  and  when  near  enough  extend  his 
neck  forward  to  take  it.  The  vireos,  forming  an  interme- 
diate genus  between  the  sylvians  and  the  true  flycatchers, 
partake  of  the  habits  of  each.  Some  of  them  are  remark- 
able for  a  sort  of  intermittent  singing  while  hunting  for 
their  food.  The  preacher,  indeed,  seems  to  make  war- 
bling his  principal  employment.  He  is  never,  apparently, 
very  diligent  or  earnest,  and  often  stops  during  his  desul- 
tory exhortations,  to  seize  a  passing  insect,  and  then  re- 
sumes his  song. 

"Woodpeckers  reside  chiefly  in  the  forest,  of  which  they 
are  the  natural  guardians ;  and  as  the  food  of  their  choii 
is  nearly  as  abundant  in  winter  as  in  summer,  they  are 
not  generally  migratory.  Hence  the  operations  of  these 
birds  are  incessant  throughout  the  year.  As  their  food  is 
not  anywhere  very  abundant,  like  that  of  some  of  the 
granivorous  birds,  woodpeckers  never  forage  in  flocks. 
The  more  they  scatter  themselves  the  better  their  fan 
The  woodpeckers  bear  the  same  relation  to  other  birds  that 
take  their  food  from  trees,  as  snipes  and  woodcocks  bear 
to  thrushes  and  quails.  They  bore  into  the  wood  as  the 
snipe  bores  into  the  earth,  while  thrushes  and  quails  seek 
the  insects  that  crawl  on  the  surface  of  the  ground. 

There  are  several  families  of  birds  that  take  only  a 
small  part  of  their  food  from  trees,  and  the  remainder 
from  the  soil  or  the  greensward.  Such  are  all  the  galli- 
naceous   kinds,   larks,  blackbirds,  and  thrushes.     It   ha- 


^44  FORAGING  HABITS   OF   BIRDS. 

been  said  that  the  skylark  was  never  known  to  perch 
upon  a  tree.  These  families  are  the  guardians  of  the 
soil.  The  thrushes  do  not  refuse  an  insect  or  a  grub 
that  is  crawling  upon  a  tree,  but  they  forage  chiefly  upon 
the  surface  of  the  ground.  In  the  feeding  habits  of 
the  thrushes,  their  apparent  want  of  diligence  attracts 
frequent  attention ;  but  this  appearance  is  delusive. 
The  common  robin  will  exemplify  their  usual  manner, 
though  he  carries  it  to  an  extreme.  When  he  is  hunt- 
ing  his  food  he  is  usually  seen  hopping  in  a  listless  man- 
ner about  the  field.  Sometimes  a  dozen  robins  or  more 
may  occupy  one  enclosure,  but  they  are  always  widely 
separated.  Observe  one  of  them  and  you  will  see  him 
standing  still,  with  his  bill  inclined  upward,  and  looking 
about  him  with  seeming  unconcern ;  soon  he  makes  two 
or  three  hops,  and  then  stands  a  few  more  seconds  with 
his  bill  turned  upward,  apparently  idle.  Presently  he 
darts  suddenly  a  few  yards  from  his  standing-place,  and 
may  be  seen  pecking  vigorously  upon  the  ground.  If  you 
were  near  him  you  would  see  him  pulling  out  a  cutworm, 
seldom  an  earthworm,  or  devouring  a  nest  of  insects 
which  are  gathered  in  a  cluster. 

Blackbirds,  though  they  also  gather  all  their  food  from 
the  ground,  seem  to  be  more  industrious.  Blackbirds  of 
all  species  walk.  They  do  not  hop  like  the  robin.  They 
seldom  hold  up  their  heads,  but  march  along  with  their 
bills  turned  downward,  as  if  entirely  devoted  to  their 
task.  They  never  seem  to  be  idle,  except  when  a  flock 
of  them  are  making  a  garrulous  noise  upon  a  tree.  If  a 
blackbird  looks  upward,  it  is  only  by  a  sudden  movement ; 
lie  does  not  stop  After  watching  a  blackbird  and  a  robin 
ten  minutes  in  the  same  field,  any  one  would  suppose 
that  the  blackbird  had  collected  twice  as  much  food  as 
the  robin  during  that  time.  But  this  is  not  true.  The 
difference  in  their  apparent  industry  is  caused  partly  by 


FORAGING   HABITS   OF   BIRDS.  245 

the  character  of  their  food.  The  robin  is  entirely  insec- 
tivorous, while  the  omnivorous  blackbird  hunts  the  soil 
for  everything  that  is  nutritious,  and  picks  up  small  seeds 
that  require  a  close  examination  of  the  ground. 

The  robin  is  probably  endowed  with  a  greater  reach  of 
sight  than  the  blackbird,  and  while  hopping  about  with 
his  head  erect,  his  vision  comprehends  a  wider  space. 
Many  a  time  have  I  been  astonished  at  the  rapidity  with 
which  one  of  these  idle  robins  would  collect  cutworms 
during  a  dry  spell  when  they  could  not  be  very  abun- 
dant, sometimes  bringing  two  at  a  time  in  her  bill  and 
carrying  them  to  her  young.  The  robin  not  only  watches 
for  a  sight  of  his  prey,  but  also  for  the  marks  upon  vege- 
tation that  denote  the  place  of  its  concealment.  He 
must  possess  an  extraordinary  share  of  this  sagacious  in- 
stinct; for  the  thousands  of  cutworms  destroyed  by  him 
could  not  be  discovered  except  by  these  indications  and 
when  they  crawl  out  at  twilight.  The  robin  is  there  fore 
one  of  the  earliest  as  well  as  the  latest  feeders  among  all 
our  birds  in  the  morning  and  evening. 

The  foraging  habits  of  the  different  species  of  domestic 
poultry  are  worthy  of  remark  as  illustrating  some  of  the 
differences  observed  in  the  manners  of  wild  birds.  Place 
a  brood  of  ducks  in  a  field  during  grasshopper-time,  and 
they  generally  pursue  one  course,  marching  in  a  body 
over  the  field  with  great  regularity.  A  brood  of  chickens, 
on  the  contrary,  will  scatter,  occasionally  reassembling, 
but  never  keeping  close  together,  unless  they  are  follow- 
ing a  hen.  Turkeys  scatter  themselves  less  than  chickens, 
but  do  not  equal  ducks  in  the  regularity  of  their  move- 
ments. Pigeons  settle  down  upon  a  field  in  a  compact 
flock,  and  then  radiate  in  all  directions.  They  pursue 
no  regular  march,  like  ducks. 

A  very  interesting  class  of  foragers  are  those  thai  feed 
in  compact  assemblages.     This  habit  renders  tin-  Bnow- 


246  FORAGING  HABITS   OF   BIRDS. 

buntings  exceedingly  attractive.  Their  food  is  not  dis- 
tributed in  separate  morsels  like  that  of  robins  and  wood- 
peckers. It  consists  of  the  seeds  of  grasses  and  of  com- 
posite plants,  which  are  often  scattered  very  evenly  over 
a  wide  surface.  When,  therefore,  a  Hock  of  fifty  or  more 
settle  down  in  a  field,  each  one  fares  as  well  as  if  he 
were  alone,  during  the  short  time  they  remain  on  the 
spot.  Insect-feeders  find  it  for  the  most  part  profita- 
ble to  scatter  and  keep  separate,  because  their  food  is 
sparsely  distributed.  This  is  not  true  of  the  birds  that 
frequent  the  salt-marshes  that  are  overflowed  by  the 
tide.  Their  aliment  consists  of  insects  and  worms  which 
are  evenly  scattered  and  abundant.  Hence  sandpipers 
and  some  other  species  forage  in  flocks,  though  they  live 
exclusively  upon  an  animal  diet. 

The  swallow  tribes  are  the  guardians  of  the  atmosphere, 
that  would  otherwise  swarm  with  fatal  quantities  of  mi- 
nute insects.  Their  foraging  habits  are  observed  by  all, 
and  are  well  known.  Woodpeckers,  creepers,  and  chicka- 
dees are  the  guardians  of  the  timber  of  the  forest ;  sylvians 
and  flycatchers,  of  the  foliage.  Blackbirds,  thrushes,  crows, 
and  larks  are  the  protectors  of  the  surface  of  the  soil ; 
snipes  and  woodcocks,  of  the  soil  under  the  surface.  Each 
family  has  its  respective  duties  to  perform  in  the  economy 
of  nature;  and  man  must  beware  lest  he  disturb  this 
equilibrium  by  reducing  the  numbers  of  any  species  below 
the  supply  of  insects  which  is  afforded  them. 

It  is  curious  to  note  the  assiduity  with  which  insects 
are  hunted  in  all  stages  of  their  existence.  In  their  larva 
state,  those  that  lurk  inside  of  the  wood  and  bark  are 
taken  by  woodpeckers,  and  those  under  the  soil  by 
snipes  and  woodcocks.  Insects,  when  the  larva  has  as- 
sumed the  form  of  moths,  beetles,  and  flies,  are  attacked 
by  flycatchers  and  sylvians  and  other  small  birds  that 
take  their  food  by  day,  and  by  small  owls  and  whippoor- 


FORAGING   HABITS    OF    BIRDS.  247 

wills  by  night.  It  matters  not  in  what  stage  of  its  ex- 
istence the  insect  is  destroyed;  it  is  still  demonstrable 
that  these  minute  creatures  cannot  he  kept '  in  chuck 
unless  they  are  attacked  in  all  stages.  Birds  are  their 
only  effectual  destroyers.  Man  cannot  check  their  mul- 
tiplication or  their  ravages  by  artificial  means.  He 
cannot  even  protect  his  garden.  Their  destructive  and 
infinite  multiplication  can  be  prevented  only  by  Nature's 
own  agents,  which  she  has  created  with  this  power.  A 
million  of  ichneumons  would  not  do  the  work  of  a 
dozen  birds. 


BIEDS  OF  THE  AIE. 

All  birds  that  take  their  food  while  on  the  wing,  and 
seldom  or  not  much  in  any  other  way,  may  be  arbitrarily 
designated  as  Birds  of  the  Air,  whether  their  prey  in- 
habit the  air,  like  the  insects  taken  by  the  Swallows  and 
Flycatchers,  or  the  cup  of  a  flower,  like  those  taken  by 
the  Hnmming-Bird.  Of  these  the  Swallows,  including 
the  Martin  and  the  Swift,  are  the  most  conspicuous  and 
most  numerous  in  this  part  of  the  world.  These  birds 
have  large  wings,  fly  very  swiftly,  and  without  a  great 
deal  of  apparent  motion  of  their  wings.  It  could  hardly 
be  explained  on  mechanical  principles  how  they  are  able 
to  pass  through  the  air  with  such  rapidity.  While  watch- 
ing them  on  the  wing,  it  seems  as  if  they  were  never 
weary ;  but  Daines  Barrington  says  the  Swallow  makes 
frequent  pauses  for  rest  while  engaged  in  the  pursuit  of 
insects. 

THE  BARN-SWALLOW. 

This  is  the  species  with  which  the  inhabitants  of  Few- 
England  are  best  acquainted.  But  they  are  every  year 
becoming  fewer,  and  this  diminution  of  their  numbers  is 
attributed  by  Mr.  S.  P.  Fowler  to  our  modern  tight  barns. 
Though  they  often  build  under  the  eaves  of  houses  and 
in  sheds,  they  find  in  these  places  but  limited  accommo- 
dations, compared  with  the  old-fashioned  barns  that  were 
formerly  scattered  over  the  whole  country.  There  are 
now  hundreds  only  where  thirty  years  ago  there  were 


' 


' 


' 


/ 


BIRDS   OF   THE   AIR.  249 

thousands,  all  swarming  with  these  lively  birds,  who 
built  their  nests  on  the  horizontal  beams  that  supported 
the  barn  roof.  The  birds  left  us  when  they  were  de- 
prived of  their  tenements,  while  the  Cliff-Swallow,  that 

builds  under  the  eaves  of  barns  and  houses  and  under 
projecting  cliffs  of  rocks,  has  increased,  feeding  upon  the 
larger  quantity  of  insects  consequent  upon  the  absence 
of  the  Barn-Swallow. 

This  species  is  of  a  social  habit ;  fond  of  building  and 
breeding,  as  it  were,  in  small  communities.  An  old- 
fashioned  barn  has  been  known  to  contain  as  many  as 
two  dozen  nests.  They  are  constructed  of  materials  simi- 
lar to  those  of  a  Eobin's  nest;  but  the  Swallow  adds  to 
the  lining  of  grass  a  few  feathers,  which  the  Robin  does 
not  use.  Dr.  Brewer  alludes  to  a  custom  among  the  Barn- 
Swallows  of  building  "  an  extra  platform  against,  but  dis- 
tinct from  the  nest  itself,  designed  as  a  roosting-place  for 
the  parents,  used  by  one  during  incubation  at  night  or 
when  not  engaged  in  procuring  food,  and  by  both  when 
the  young  are  large  enough  to  occupy  the  whole  nest." 
The  eggs  of  the  Barn-Swallow  are  nearly  white,  with  a 
fine  sprinkling  of  purple.  Two  broods  are  reared  in  a 
season.  When  the  bird  appears  to  have  a  third  brood  I 
think  it  must  have  happened  from  the  accidental  destruc- 
tion of  the  second  brood  of  eggs. 

THE   CLIFF-SWALLOW. 

The  Cliff-Swallow  is  the  species  that  has  apparently 
filled  the  vacancy  made  by  the  diminished  numbers  of  Hie 
Barn-Swallow.  It  is  a  smaller  bird  and  more  whitish 
underneath.  The  nests  of  this  species  are  placed  un 
the  eaves  of  houses,  sometimes  extending  nearly  across 
the  whole  side  of  a  roof,  resembling  in  some  degri 
long  row  of  hornets'  nests.     The  nest  is  of  a  roundish 

11* 


250  BIRDS   OF   THE   AIR. 

shape ;  the  body  of  it  is  plastered  to  the  wood ;  the  en- 
trance is  the  neck,  slightly  covered  for  protection  from 
rain.  They  are  made  of  clay  and  mud  without  intermix- 
ture of  other  substances.  They  are  lined  with  grass  and 
feathers. 

This  species  was  at  the  early  settlement  of  the  country 
so  rare,  in  this  part  of  the  continent,  that  it  escaped  the 
notice  of  some  of  the  earliest  observers  of  the  habits  of 
our  birds.  It  was  not  known  even  to  Alexander  Wilson. 
It  seems  to  have  been  observed  and  described  in  Maine 
before  it  was  well  known  in  any  of  the  other  States.  Dr. 
Brewer  says  of  this  species  :  "  I  first  observed  a  large  col- 
ony of  them  in  Attleborough  (Mass.)  in  1842.  Its  size 
indicated  the  existence  of  these  birds  in  that  place  for 
several  years.  The  same  year  they  also  appeared  in  Bos- 
ton, Hingham,  and  in  other  places  in  the  neighborhood." 
The  notes  of  this  Swallow  are  not  so  agreeable  as  those 
of  the  Barn-Swallow  and  other  species. 

THE   WOOD-SWALLOW. 

The  White-bellied  Swallow  is  known  in  the  British 
Provinces  by  the  name  of  "  Wood-Swallow."  This  will  be 
regarded  a  very  appropriate  designation,  when  we  consider 
the  continuance  of  the  primitive  habits  of  this  bird  of 
building  in  hollow  trees.  Samuels,  has  seen  great  num- 
bers of  the  nests  of  this  species  in  the  woods  of  Maine, 
near  the  northern  lakes,  built  in  hollow  trees,  some  of 
them  standing  in  water.  In  an  area  of  about  ten  rods  he 
counted  fifty  nests.  He  says  this  species  is  the  most 
common  of  the  Swallows  in  that  region.  The  nests  are 
formed  entirely  of  grass  and  feathers  without  any  mud, 
for  which  there   is    no   necessity.     The   eggs   are   pure 

white. 

This  species  has  superseded  the  Purple  Martin  in  many 


BIRDS   OF   THE   AIR.  251 

parts  of  New  England,  as  the  Cliff-Swallow  lias  super- 
seded the  Barn-Swallow.  They  are  pretty  generally  dis- 
tributed over  the  whole  continent,  though,  notwithstand- 
ing the  primitive  habits  that  still  adhere  to  a  great  part 
of  their  numbers,  they  are  most  numerous  in  cities  and 
their  suburbs,  attracted  probably  by  the  vast  mnltitud 
of  small  flies,  which  are  more  abundant  than  in  the  woods. 
The  Cliff-Swallow  breeds  as  far  as  the  Arctic  Seas. 

THE   SAND-MARTIN. 

This  is  not  the  least  interesting  of  the  family  of  Swal- 
lows. The  swarming  multitudes  that  often  assemble  in 
one  vicinity,  their  constant  motions  while  going  in  and 
out  their  holes  in  the  sand-bank,  and  sailing  about  on 
rapid  wing  in  quest  of  their  microscopic  prey,  and  their 
lively  notes  render  them  objects  of  frequent  attention. 
Of  all  the  Swallows  the  Sand-Martins  afford  the  most 
amusement  for  small  boys  in  the  vicinity,  who  employ 
themselves  in  digging  out  their  nests,  which  are  some- 
times  less  than  two  feet  under  the  surface.  The  diffi- 
culty is  in  finding  the  exact  spot  where  the  excavation 
should  be  made.  Large  multitudes  of  them  formerly 
assembled  every  year  and  made  their  holes  in  the  high 
sand-bluffs  that  surround  the  Beverly  coast.  I  have  count- 
ed over  fifty  holes  in  one  large  and  high  bank. 

"  The  work  of  preparation,"  says  Dr.  Brewer,  "  they 
perform  with  their  closed  bill,  swaying  the  body  round 
on  the  feet,  beginning  at  the  centre  and  working  out- 
wards. This  long  and  often  winding  gallery  gradually 
expands  into  a  small  spherical  apartment,  on  the  floor  oi 
which  they  form  a  rude  nest  of  straw  and  feathers.  The 
time  occupied  in  making  these  excavations  varies  greatly 
with  the  nature  of  the  soil,  from  four  or  live  days  to 
twice  that  number." 


252  BIRDS  OF  THE  AIR. 


THE  PURPLE  MARTIN. 


It  is  seldom  in  these  days  we  hear  the  sweet  hilarious 
notes  of  the  Purple  Martin  in  Eastern  Massachusetts. 
From  some  not  very  accountable  cause  the  species  have 
left  many  of  their  former  habitations,  and  we  are  no 
longer  pleasantly  roused  from  our  sleep  by  their  sportive 
garrulity  near  our  dwellings.  The  absence  of  these  birds 
is  a  truly  sorrowful  bereavement.  When  I  visit  the 
places  where  I  formerly  heard  them  and  note  their  ab- 
sence, I  feel  as  I  do  when  strolling  over  some  old  familiar 
ground  upon  which  every  scene  has  been  changed,  where 
wood  has  become  open  space,  old  houses  are  removed 
and  replaced  by  new,  and  strangers  occupy  the  homes  of 
the  old  inhabitants. 

"We  no  longer  see  any  large  assemblages  of  Purple 
Martins  in  Eastern  Massachusetts;  and  in  almost  all 
parts  of  New  England,  where  they  were  formerly  the  most 
common  of  our  birds,  their  numbers  are  greatly  dimin- 
ished. Why,  it  may  be  asked,  have  they  so  generally  left 
these  parts,  especially  the  vicinity  of  Boston  ?  May  it 
not  be  that  the  Wood- Swallows,  which  have  multiplied  in 
the  same  ratio  as  the  Purple  Martins  have  decreased,  have 
been  the  cause  of  their  disappearance  ?  They  breed  in 
the  boxes  formerly  used  by  the  Martins,  who,  upon  their 
later  arrival,  finding  them  preoccupied  by  the  Wood-Swal- 
low, and  failing  to  obtain  other  accommodations,  fly  away 
to  another  vicinity.  In  a  contest  for  a  box  the  Purple 
Martin  would  be  the  victor,  but  would  prefer  seeking  a 
habitation  elsewhere  to  making  an  attempt  to  dislodge 
birds  which  had  already  built  their  nests  there. 

The  Purple  Martin  is  the  largest  of  the  American  Swal- 
lows, with  plumage  of  a  bluish-black  intermingled  with 
purple  and  violet.  In  beauty  it  is  not  surpassed  by  any 
of  the  species.     It  seems  to  have  no  fear  of  man,  who 


BIRDS    OF    THE   AIR.  253 

from  immemorial  time  has  protected  it.  The  aboriginal 
inhabitants  set  hollowed  gourds  upon  the  trees  to  draw 
the  Martins  to  their  huts.  And  when  the  white  man 
came,  he  provided  them  with  a  meeting-house,  consider- 
ing it  a  fitting  structure  for  their  musical  congregations. 

The  Purple  Martin  utters  a  series  of  notes  which  are 
so  varied  and  continued  as  to  deserve  to  be  called  a  song. 
This  song  has  attracted  less  attention  from  those  who 
have  described  the  habits  of  our  birds  than  it  merits. 
In  my  early  days  I  have  listened  for  hours  to  the  peculiar 
notes  of  the  Purple  Martin,  in  which  a  variety  of  chatter- 
ing and  chuckling  is  combined  with  a  low  guttural  trill, 
resembling  certain  parts  of  the  song  of  the  Red-Thrush. 
The  Martin,  however,  does  not  give  himself  up  to  song. 
His  notes  are  heard  chiefly  while  on  the  wing ;  but  they 
are  almost  incessant.  He  is  constantly  in  motion,  and 
his  song  seems  to  me  one  of  the  most  animated  and 
cheerful  sounds  uttered  by  any  American  bird  except 
the  Bobolink. 

The  flight  of  the  Purple  Martin  and  his  peculiar  ways 
render  him  exceedingly  interesting  and  amusing.  Sur- 
passed by  no  bird  in  swiftness,  there  is  none  that  equals 
him  in  the  beauty  of  his  movements  on  the  wing,  uniting 
grace  and  vivacity  in  a  remarkable  degree.  Often  skim- 
ming the  surface  of  ponds,  or  swiftly  gliding  along  a  pub- 
lic road  a  few  feet  from  the  ground,  then  soaring  above 
the  height  of  the  lower  clouds,  he  sails  about  with  but 
little  motion  of  the  wings,  till  he  is  out  of  sight.  These 
flights  seem  to  be  made  for  his  own  amusement ;  for  it 
cannot  be  supposed  that  he  finds  the  larger  insects  that 
constitute  his  prey  at  so  great  a  height. 

The  boldness  displayed  by  the  Purple  Martin  in  driving 
Hawks  and  Crows  from  his  neighborhood  accounts  for  the 
respect  in  which  he  was  held  by  the  Indians,  who  were 
great  admirers  of  courage.     "  So  well  known,"  says  A\  il- 


254  BIRDS   OF   THE   AIR. 

son,  "  is  this  to  the  lower  birds  and  to  the  domestic  poul- 
try, that  as  soon  as  they  hear  the  Martin's  voice  engaged 
in  fight,  all  is  alarm  and  consternation."  The  Martin  is 
often  victor  in  contests  with  the  Kingbird,  perhaps  when 
one  is  tired  of  the  contest  another  takes  his  place  with 
fresh  vigor,  so  that  the  Kingbird  is  finally  driven  away 
and  conquered. 

THE  CHIMNEY-SWALLOW. 

The  Chimney-Swallow  attracts  general  attention  on 
account  of  its  practice  of  building  its  nest  in  the  un- 
used flue  of  a  chimney.  In  village  and  town  this  fam- 
ily of  birds  are  very  abundant,  some  deserted  chimney 
being  always  appropriated  for  the  rearing  of  their  young. 
It  is  remarkable  that  their  desertion  of  their  original 
breeding-places  and  their  present  selection  of  chimneys 
should  be  so  universal.  Though  they  are  known  at  the 
present  time  to  build,  as  formerly,  in  hollow  trees,  they 
do  so  only  in  forests  very  distant  from  town  or  village. 
It  cannot  be  said  that  they  are  fond  of  the  companion- 
ship of  man.  The  small  flies  that  constitute  their  food 
are  probably  more  numerous  in  towns  than  in  forests. 
Hence  the  birds  for  convenience  resort  to  the  chimney 
rather  than  the  hollow  tree,  which  is  farther  from  their 
supplies  of  food. 

The  Chimney-Swallow  is  the  smallest  of  our  American 
species,  and  is  partially  nocturnal  in  its  habits,  being 
most  active  during  morn  and  early  twilight.  Its  nests 
are  nicely  woven  with  sticks,  fastened  to  the  chimney 
with  a  glutinous  saliva.  Says  Samuels  :  "  About  sunset, 
great  multitudes  of  these  birds  are  out,  and  the  num- 
bers of  insects  they  destroy  must  be  immense.  Every- 
where they  may  be  seen ;  away  up  in  the  blue  sky,  as 
far  as  the  eye   can   reach,  they  are   coursing   in  wide- 


BIRDS   OF   THE   AIR.  255 

extended  circles,  chasing  eacli  other  in  sport,  and  even 
caressing  and  feeding  their  mates  while  on  the  wing.  A 
little  lower  they  are  speeding  over  the  tops  of  tn 
gleaning  the  insects  that  have  just  left  the  foliage  ;  over 
the  surface  of  the  lake  or  river  they  fly  so  low,  in  the 
pursuit  of  aquatic  insects  that  their  wings  often  touch 
the  water.     Everywhere  are  they  busy." 

THE  KINGBIRD   OR  BEE-MARTIN". 

The  true  Flycatchers  take  all  their  food  while  it  is 
flying  in  the  air,  though  they  do  not  sail  round,  like  a 
Swallow,  to  catch  it.  They  are  commonly  seated  quietly 
on  their  perch,  and  seize  it  by  sallying  out  a  few  yards, 
and  then  returning.  If  we  watch  the  ways  either  of  the 
Kingbird  or  the  Pewee,  we  shall  observe  this  peculiar 
habit  of  all  the  Flycatchers.  One  of  the  most  common 
of  our  birds,  well  known  by  his  lively  manners,  his  shrill 
notes,  and  twittering  flight;  always  apparently  idle,  sit- 
ting on  the  branch  of  a  tree  as  if  he  were  a  sentinel  of 
the  field,  is  the  Kingbird.  From  this  branch  you  may 
observe  his  frequent  sallies  when  darting  upon  his  prey. 
You  may  often  see  him  pursuing  a  Hawk  or  a  Crow,  and 
annoying  it  by  repeated  attacks,  always  made  in  the 
rear  of  his  victim.  His  usual  custom  is  to  rise  a  little 
above  the  object  of  his  harassment,  and  then  swoop  down 
in  such  a  manner  that  the  bird  cannot  turn  upon  him. 
I  have  frequently  seen  him  rise  almost  out  of  sight 
when  encra^ed  in  such  encounters.  His  victim  constantly 
endeavors  to  rise  above  his  pursuer,  while  the  Kingbird  by 
his  activity  as  invariably  balks  him.  I  could  never  deter- 
mine which  of  the  two  was  the  first  to  tire.  But  the  King- 
bird may  probably  be  relieved  by  another  of  his  species 
who  may  take  his  place.  This  pugnacious  habit  is  said 
to  continue  only  during  the  breeding-season. 


256  BIRDS   OF   THE   AIR. 

It  is  amusing  to  watch  his  movements  when  flying. 
He  sails  rapidly  along  the  air  with  but  little  motion  of 
his  outspread  wings,  save  the  vibrations  of  his  extended 
feathers,  all  the  time  screaming  with  a  sharp  and  rapid 
twitter.  You  observe  this  habit  of  the  bird  at  short  dis- 
tances from  the  ground,  when  pursuing  an  insect.  Upon 
seizing  it  he  returns  immediately  to  his  post.  He  is 
watching  all  the  while  for  the  larger  insects.  He  will 
not  quit  his  perch,  upon  a  fence,  the  branch  of  a  tree, 
or  a  mullein-stalk,  to  catch  small  flies.  He  leaves  all 
minute  insects  to  the  Swallows  and  small  Flycatchers. 
The  farmers  complain  of  him  as  a  bee-eater,  whence  the 
name  of  Bee-Martin  which  is  often  applied  to  him. 
Some  observers  say  he  discriminates  between  the  differ- 
ent kinds  of  bees,  selecting  only  the  drones  for  his  re- 
past. But  among  the  offences  charged  against  him,  he 
is  never  accused  of  stealing  grain  or  fruit.  Hence  he  is 
seldom  molested,  and  enjoys  great  security  compared 
with  many  other  equally  useful  birds. 

The  Kingbird  has  not  much  beauty  of  plumage  ;  but  he 
is  so  neatly  marked  with  black  and  white,  with  a  bluish 
color  above,  and  a  white  band  at  the  extremity  of  his  dark 
tail-feathers,  and  he  displays  his  form  and  plumage  so 
gracefully  in  his  vibrating  flights,  that  he  cannot  escape 
notice.  The  crest,  containing  a  vermilion  centre,  is 
hardly  discernible,  save  when  the  bird  is  excited,  when 
it  is  slightly  elevated.  The  Kingbird  more  frequently 
builds  in  an  orchard  than  in  a  wood,  an  open  cultivated 
place  being  more  productive  of  those  insects  which  afford 
him  subsistence. 

THE  PEWEE. 

If  we  stroll  at  any  hour  of  the  day  in  summer  and 
sit  under  a  rustic  bridge  for  coolness  or  shelter,  while 


BIRDS   OF   THE  AIR.  257 

watching  the  stream  and  listening  to  its  flow,  we  may 
hear  the  plaintive  cry  of  the  Pewee,  a  common  but  re- 
tiring bird,  whose  note  is  familiar  to  all.  He  seems  to 
court  solitude,  though  he  has  no  apparent  fear  in  the 
presence  of  man  ;  and  his  singular  note  harmonizes  with 
the  gloominess  of  his  retreat.  He  sits  for  the  most  pari 
in  the  shade,  catching  his  insect  prey  without  any  noise, 
but  after  seizing  it,  resuming  his  station.  This  movement 
is  performed  in  the  most  graceful  manner ;  and  he  often 
turns  a  somerset  or  appears  to  do  so,  if  the  insect  at  first 
evades  his  pursuit.  All  this  is  done  in  silence,  for  he  is 
no  singer.  The  only  sound  he  utters  beside  his  lament 
is  an  occasional  clicking  chirp.  All  the  day,  after  short 
intervals,  with  a  plaintive  cadence  he  modulates  the 
syllables  pc-wcc.  As  the  male  and  the  female  can  hardly 
be  distinguished,  I  have  not  been  able  to  determine 
whether  this  sound  is  uttered  by  both  sexes  or  by  the 
male  only. 

So  plainly  expressive  of  sadness  is  this  remarkable 
note,  that  it  is  difficult  to  believe  the  little  creature 
that  utters  it  can  be  free  from  sorrow.  Certainly  he  has 
no  congeniality  with  the  sprightly  Bobolink.  Why  is  it 
that  two  simple  sounds  in  succession  can  produce  an 
effect  on  the  mind  as  intense  as  a  solemn  strain  of  arti- 
ficial music  and  excite  the  imagination  like  the  words  of 
poesy  ?  I  never  listen  to  the  note  of  the  Pewee  without 
imagining  that  something  is  expressed  by  it  that  is  be- 
yond our  ken;  that  it  sounds  in  unison  with  some  one 
of  those  infinite  chords  of  intelligence  and  emotion,  which 
in  our  dreamy  moments  bring  us  undefinable  sensations 
of  beauty  and  mystery  and  sorrow.  Perhaps  with  the 
rest  of  his  species,  the  Pewee  represents  the  fragment 
of  a  superior  race  which,  according  to  the  metempsy- 
chosis, have  fallen  from  their  original  high  position 
among    exalted   beings;    and   this    melancholy    note    is 

Q 


258  BIRDS   OF   THE   AIR. 

but  the  partial  utterance  of  sorrow  that  still  lingers  in 
their  breasts  after  the  occasion  of  it  is  forgotten ! 

Though  a  retiring  bird,  the  Pewee  is  very  generally 
known  on  account  of  his  remarkable  note,  which  is  heard 
often  in  our  gardens  as  well  as  in  his  peculiar  habitats. 
Like  the  Cliff-Swallow,  he  builds  his  nest  under  a  shelter- 
ing roof  or  rock,  and  it  is  often  fixed  upon  a  beam  or  plank 
under  a  bridge.  There  are  no  prejudices  in  the  community 
against  this  species.  They  are  not  destroyed  on  any  occa- 
sion. By  the  most  ordinary  observer  they  cannot  be  sus- 
pected of  doing  mischief  in  the  garden.  I  should  remark 
in  this  place,  that  the  Flycatchers  and  Swallows  and  a 
few  other  species  that  enjoy  immunity  in  our  land,  though 
multiplied  to  infinity,  would  perform  only  those  offices 
which  are  assigned  them  by  nature.  It  is  a  vain  hope 
that  while  employed  in  exterminating  any  species  of  small 
birds  their  places  can  be  supplied  and  their  services  per- 
formed by  other  species  which  are  allowed  to  multiply 
to  excess.  The  Swallow  and  the  Pewee,  with  all  their 
multitudinous  families,  will  not  perform  the  work  of  the 
Eobin  or  the  Woodpecker,  nor  can  all  these  together  do 
the  work  of  the  Sylvians. 

WOOD-PEWEE. 

"We  seldom  ramble  in  a  deep  wood  without  hearing  the 
feeble  and  plaintive  note  of  the  Wood-Pewee,  —  a  bird 
that  does  not  leave  the  forest,  and  is  therefore  less  known 
than  the  larger  species  that  builds  under  bridges  and  the 
eaves  of  old  houses.  The  AVood-Pewee  places  its  shallow 
nest  upon  some  large  branch  of  a  tree  without  any  protec- 
tion above  it,  and  it  is  chiefly  concealed  by  the  resem- 
blance of  its  materials  to  the  mosses  and  lichens  on  the 
bough.  Its  habits,  except  its  attachment  to  the  soli- 
tude of  the  wood,  differ  but  little  from  those  of  the  com- 


BIRDS    OF   THE   AIR.  259 

mon  Pewee.  It  seems  likewise  to  have  the  same  cheer- 
ful manners.  The  minor  notes  of  the  two  Peweea  serve, 
more  than  any  others  equally  simple,  to  harmonize  the 
anthem  of  Nature. 


THE   HUMMING-BIRD. 

The  Humming-Birds,  of  which  it  is  said  there  are  more 
than  four  hundred  species,  are  among  the  most  exquisite 
of  all  animated  beings.  They  unite  the  beauty  and  deli- 
cacy of  a  beautiful  insect  with  the  organization  and 
intelligence  of  a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood.  Of  all 
the  feathered  tribe,  none  will  compare  with  them  in 
the  minuteness  of  their  size.  The  splendor,  variety,  and 
chane-eableness  of  their  hues  are  no  less  admirable  than 
their  diminutiveness.  The  colors  of  the  rainbow  do  not 
surpass  those  of  many  of  the  species  either  in  beauty  or 
variety.  A  brilliant  metallic  lustre  greatly  enhances  all 
this  splendor.  The  variability  of  their  hues,  which  is  also 
observed  in  many  other  birds,  is  in  the  Humming-Birds 
almost  unaccountable.  Says  Dr.  Brewer  :  "  The  sides  of 
the  fibres  of  each  feather  are  of  a  different  color  from  the 
surface,  and  change  as  seen  in  a  front  or  an  oblique  dii 
tion ;  and,  while  living,  these  birds  by  their  movements 
can  cause  their  feathers  to  change  very  suddenly  to 
different  hues.  Thus  the  SelaspJiorvs  rvfus  can  change  in 
a  twinkling  the  vivid  fire  color  of  its  expanded  throat  to 
alight  green;  and  the  species  known  as  the  Mexican 
Star,  changes  from  a  light  crimson  to  an  equally  brilliant 
blue." 

Yet  with  all  their  beauty  of  color,  what  is  most  attr    - 
tive  about  them  is  their  flight.     When  a  Humming-Bird 
is  Hying,  so  rapid  are  the  motions  of  its  wings  that    it 
seems  like  the  body  of  a  bird  suspended  in   a  circle  "t 
radiating  sunbeams,  or  like  one  in  the  midst  of  a  gl< 


260  BIRDS   OF   THE  AIR. 

of  down,  like  that  which  surrounds  the  receptacle  of  a 
ripened  dandelion  flower.  "When  we  watch  the  flight  of 
a  short-winged  bird  like  the  Quail,  the  radiations  formed 
by  the  rapid  motions  of  its  wings  make  only  a  semicircle. 
In  the  Humming-Bird  they  form  a  complete  circle  of 
luminous  rays.  This  flight,  which  resembles  that  of  cer- 
tain insects,  is  the  more  remarkable  on  account  of  the 
extraordinary  length  of  its  wings,  which  would  lead  us  to 
infer  that  they  would  be  incapable  of  such  rapid  motion 
by  the  muscular  force  of  so  small  a  body.  The  wings  of 
those  moths  and  beetles  which  have  a  similar  movement 
bear  no  proportion  to  the  length  of  the  Humming-Bird's 
wing,  compared  with  the  size  of  the  body  of  the  insect  and 
of  the  bird.  It  is  the  rapid  vibration  of  the  wings,  pro- 
ducing a  sound  like  the  spinning  of  a  top,  that  has  given 
to  this  family  of  birds  the  name  by  which  they  are  desig- 
nated. 

While  hovering  before  a  flower,  this  hum  is  plainly 
audible ;  but  when  the  bird  darts  off  to  another  place  the 
tone  produced  by  these  vibrations  is  plainly  raised  to  a 
higher  key,  as  it  spins  like  an  arrow  through  the  air. 
Dr.  Brewer,  alluding  to  the  Swiss  philosopher  Saussure, 
says  :  "  On  the  first  visit  of  this  naturalist  to  a  savanna  in 
the  island  of  Jamaica,  he  noticed  what  he  at  first  took  to 
be  a  brilliant  green  insect,  of  rapid  flight,  approaching 
him  by  successive  alternations  of  movements  and  pauses, 
and  rapidly  gliding  among  and  over  the  network  of  inter- 
lacing shrubs.  He  was  surprised  by  the  extraordinary 
dexterity  with  which  it  avoided  the  movements  of  his 
net,  and  yet  more  astonished  to  find,  when  he  had  cap- 
tured it,  that  he  had  taken  a  bird  and  not  an  insect." 

The  largest  known  Humming-Bird  is  about  the  size  of 
the  Chimney-Swallow  ;  and  so  great  is  the  disparity  in 
the  size  of  the  different  species,  that  when  confined  in  a 
cage,  and  the  perch  "has  been  occupied  by  the  great 


BIRDS   OF   THE   AIR.  26] 

Blue-throated  Humming-Bird,  the  diminutive  Mexican 
Star  has  settled  on  the  long  beak  of  the  former,  and  re- 
mained perched  on  it  some  minutes  without  its  offering 
to  resist  the  insult."  Some  of  the  species  are  so  small 
that  if  they  flew  by  night  they  might  be  swallowed  alive 
by  one  of  the  smaller  Owls  as  easily  as  a  beetle. 

The  Humming-Bird  was  formerly  supposed  to  feed 
entirely  on  the  nectar  of  the  flowers  it  was  seen  so  con- 
stantly to  visit.  It  is  now  well  ascertained  that  its  cL 
subsistence  is  made  up  of  small  insects  which  it  takes 
from  the  flower.  But  the  ancient  opinion  was  not  en- 
tirely a  fallacy,  since  a  portion  of  the  nectar  of  the  flower 
is  taken  with  the  insects,  and  supplies  to  the  Humming- 
Bird  that  kind  of  nourishment  which  the  larger  insec- 
tivorous birds  derive  from  fruit.  Dr.  Brewer  says  "  the 
young  birds  feed  by  putting  their  own  bills  down  the 
throats  of  their  parents,  sucking  probably  a  prepared 
sustenance  of  nectar  and  fragments  of  insects."  The 
bird  uses  his  tongue  both  for  capturing  insects  and  for 
sucking  the  drops  of  dew  and  nectarine  juices  contained 
in  the  flower. 

Notwithstanding  the  small  size  of  the  whole  tribe  of 
Humming-Birds,  they  are  notoriously  the  most  courageous 
and  combative  birds  in  existence.  Their  sharp  bills,  their 
rapid  flight,  the  electric  quickness  of  their  manoeuvres, 
render  them  so  dangerous  that  no  bird  whom  parties  of 
them  choose  to  attack  can  escape  unharmed. 

I  once  discovered  a  nest  of  the  Humming-Bird  in  my 
own  garden,  upon  the  horizontal  bough  of  an  old  apple- 
tree.  It  was  placed  near  the  end  of  the  bough,  about 
five  feet  from  the  ground.  It  was  built,  as  all  write 
have  described  other  nests  of  Humming-Birds,  of  ferns 
and  mosses,  with  lichens  glued  together,  perhaps  from 
being  collected  while  they  were  damp.  It  contained  I 
eggs  about  the  size  of  a  pea-bean. 


SWALLOWS:  THEIE   HIBERNATION. 

There  is  not  much  that  is  interesting  to  be  said  of 
swallows,  which  are  not  singing-birds,  and  do  not  by 
their  aerial  flights  attract  attention,  as  if  they  were  seen 
creeping  on  the  branches  of  trees,  and  associated  with 
their  flowers.  We  watch  with  admiration  their  rapid 
movements  through  the  air,  their  horizontal  flight  along 
the  surface  of  some  still  water,  and  are  charmed  with 
their  twittering  when  assembled  round  their  nests. 
There  was  once  a  lively  controversy  in  relation  to  the 
manner  in  which  swallows  pass  the  winter.  The  opin- 
ion of  naturalists  in  Sweden  and  in  the  North  of  Eu- 
rope, among  whom  we  may  name  Linnaeus  and  Kalm, 
was  that  swallows  buried  themselves  in  water  under 
the  freezing-line,  or  slept  in  the  crevices  of  rocks.  This 
theory  has  been  discarded  by  modern  naturalists,  who 
have  authentic  accounts  of  flocks  of  swallows  which 
have  settled  upon  the  masts  and  sails  of  ships  when  on 
their  passage  to  or  from  the  countries  where  they  pass 
the  winter.     Still,  the  mystery  is  not  cleared  up. 

White  of  Selborne  mentions  a  week  in  March  that 
was  attended  by  very  hot  weather,  when  many  species 
of  insects  came  forth,  and  many  house-swallows  appeared. 
On  the  immediate  succession  of  severe  cold  weather,  the 
swallows  disappeared  and  were  seen  no  more  until  April. 
He  mentions  another  instance  recorded  in  his  journal,  of 
the  reappearance  of  swallows  after  a  month's  absence,  on 
the  4th  of  November,  just  for  one  day,  which  was  remark- 
ably warm,  playing  about  at  their  leisure,  as  if  they  were 


SWALLOWS:   THEIR   HIBERNATION.  2< 

near  their  place  of  retreat.  On  the  same  day,  more  than 
twenty  house-martins  appeared,  which  had  retired  with- 
out exception  on  the  7th  day  of  the  October  previous. 
He  adds  that  whenever  the  thermometer  is  above  50°, 
the  bat  flits  out  during  any  autumn  or  winter  month. 
The  author  concludes  that  two  whole  species  of  .swal- 
lows, or  at  least  a  large  proportion  of  them  in  Great 
Britain,  never  leave  the  island,  but  remain  torpid  in  some 
place  of  retreat;  for  he  remarks,  "We  cannot  suppose 
that,  after  a  month's  absence,  house-martins  can  return 
from  Southern  regions,  to  appear  for  one  morning  in 
November;  or  that  house-swallows  should  leave  the 
districts  of  Africa,  to  enjoy  in  March  the  transient 
summer  of  a  couple  of  days." 

Daines  Barrington  testifies  that  he  lias  in  many  in- 
stances known  martins  to  reappear  during  warm  days  in 
different  parts  of  the  winter,  but  he  is  not  sure  that  he 
has  ever  seen  swallows  at  such  times.  He  thinks,  there- 
fore, that  martins  conceal  themselves  in  crevices  of  rocks, 
from  which  on  a  warm  day  they  can  emerge ;  but  swal- 
lows, which  are  buried  under  water,  cannot  feel  the  influ- 
ence of  a  short  period  of  warm  weather.  The  treat i- 
on  Ornithology  written  in  the  northern  parts  of  Europe 
allude  frequently,  as  if  it  were  an  established  fact,  to  the 
submersion  of  swallows  during  the  winter.  Peter  Brown, 
a  Norwegian  painter,  informed  Air.  Barrington  that  while 
he  was  at  school  near  Sheen,  he  and  his  comrades  ci di- 
stantly found  swallows  in  numbers  torpid  under  the 
that  covered  bays,  and  that  they  would  revive  if  pi;. 
in  a  warm  room.  The  author  of  a  paper  read  before  the 
Academy  of  Upsal  mentions  the  submersion  of  swallows 
as  a  known  fact  in  that  part  of  the  world.  Among  the 
superstitions  associated  witli  this  belief,  Pantoffidan  re- 
lates that  swallows  before  they  sink  under  water  Mn.ur  the 
Swalloiv  Song,  as  it  is  called,  and  which  everybody  knows. 


264  SWALLOWS:   THEIR   HIBERNATION. 

A  gentleman  of  science  informed  Mr.  Barrington  that 
when  he  was  fourteen  years  of  age,  a  pond  belonging  to 
his  father,  who  was  a  vicar  in  Berkshire,  was  cleared  out 
in  February.  While  the  workmen  were  clearing  it,  he 
picked  up  a  cluster  of  three  or  four  swallows  that  were 
caked  in  the  mud,  and  they  revived  and  flew  about  when 
carried  to  a  warm  room.  Mr.  Barrington  records  many 
similar  facts,  for  which  I  have  no  space.  In  one  instance 
swallows  were  taken  out  of  a  mass  of  solid  ice,  and  were 
brought  to  life  by  the  application  of  heat. 

He  thinks  swallows  only  are  ever  submerged  in  water 
or  mud,  but  that  martins  retire  to  fissures  in  rocks  or  to 
some  lurking-places  in  the  ground.  He  mentions  a  boat- 
man who  had  seen  thousands  of  martins  in  the  crevices 
of  a  rock,  and  that  they  would  revive  when  taken  into  a 
warm  room.  Kalm  also  relates,  in  his  "  Travels  in  Amer- 
ica," that  they  have  been  found  torpid  in  holes  and  clefts 
of  rocks  near  Albany,  New  York.  Mr.  McKenzie,  being 
at  Lord  Stafford's  in  Yorkshire,  near  the  end  of  October, 
a  conversation  began  about  swallows  crossing  the  seas. 
This  the  game-keeper  disbelieved,  and  said  he  would 
carry  any  one  to  some  neighboring  coal-works,  where  he 
was  sure  of  finding  them  at  that  time.  Some  of  the 
servants  attended  him  to  the  coal-pits,  where  several 
martins  were  found  in  a  torpid  state,  but  would  show 
life  when  warmed. 

Mr.  Barrington  concludes  from  all  these  facts  that 
martins  appear  occasionally  throughout  the  winter,  when 
the  weather  is  mild ;  but  he  had  heard  no  well-attested 
cases  of  the  reappearance  of  sand-martins  during  the 
winter ;  he  cannot  conjecture  where  they  conceal  them- 
selves, but  he  is  positive  they  do  not  winter  in  their 
holes.  He  expresses  his  belief  in  the  impossibility  of 
their  making  a  journey  across  the  seas  to  Africa,  and 
doubts  the  few  recorded  instances  of  their  alighting  on 


SWALLOWS:   THEIR  HIBERNATION.  L't'.O 

the  masts  of  vessels  on  their  journeys  of  migration.  If 
this  theory  of  the  migration  of  swallows  he  true,  it  must 
be  true  of  those  in  the  northern  and  southern  parte  "1* 
Asia.  On  the  contrary,  they  hide  themselves  in  the 
banks  of  the  Ganges,  during  the  three  so-called  winter 
months  in  that  part  of  the  world.  Du  Tertre  mentions 
that  the  few  swallows  seen  in  the  Caribbee  Isles  are  only 
observed  in  summer,  as  in  France.  We  are  assured  by 
Dr.  Pallas,  that  not  only  are  there  swallows  in  Russia 
and  Siberia,  but  that  on  the  banks  of  the  Wolga,  latitude 
57°,  they  disappeared  about  the  fourth  of  August.  These 
birds,  according  to  the  theory  of  migration,  ought  to  have 
been  passing  to  the  more  southern  parts  of  Asia.  Yet  it 
has  not  been  observed  by  any  Asiatic  traveller  that  they 
have  the  same  species  of  swallow,  or  that  they  are  seen 
in  those  parts  during  our  winter. 

As  an  objection  to  the  theory  of  the  torpidity  of  swal- 
lows as  their  mode  of  hibernation,  it  is  asked  where  and 
when  they  moult,  if  not  in  regions  south  of  Europe,  as 
they  do  not  moult  before  their  disappearance.  This  is  an 
objection  that  Mr.  Barrington  fails  to  answer.  It  is  im- 
possible, however,  that  their  moulting  can  happen  when 
submerged  in  water  or  torpid  in  some  concealed  resort. 
The  functions  of  the  animal  economy  would  be  unable  to 
supply  a  new  plumage  while  the  system  is  in  this  stale 
I  would  suggest,  if  the  theory  of  their  torpidity  were 
proved,  that  they  may  drop  their  feathers  one  by  one, 
during  all  their  active  season  of  flight,  as  human  hair  is 
shed.  Still,  I  cannot  but  think  it  more  probable  that 
swallows  leave  their  northern  habitats  very  early  in  the 
season,  that  they  may  arrive  at  their  winter-quarters  jusl 
before  the  season  of  moulting;  and  that  the  cause  of 
their  remaining  undiscovered  during  their  residence  in 
the  warm  regions  to  which  they  resort  is,  thai  while 
moulting  they  live  upon  the  ground  in  shelters  of  thid 

12 


266  SWALLOWS:   THEIR  HIBERNATION. 

not  being  able  to  fly,  and  subsist  upon  a  diet  which  they 
pick  up  from  the  ground. 

But  this  does  not  explain  the  moulting  of  those  swal- 
lows and  martins,  few  or  many,  which  have  been  proved 
to  remain  torpid  in  northern  countries.  Do  these  come 
out  in  the  spring  only  to  die,  or  do  they  perish  in  their 
winter  retreats  and  never  revive  ?  If  they  are  destined 
to  perish  here,  why  has  Nature  provided  them  with  an 
instinct  which  answers  no  purpose  whatever  in  their 
economy  ?  If  this  submersion  is  only  a  method  of 
suicide,  why  do  they  not  perish  immediately,  instead 
of  lingering  along  during  the  whole  winter  to  die  at 
the  end  of  this  season  ?  And  if  they  do  not  perish  at 
this  time,  but  awake  and  revive  like  bats  and  dormice, 
the  most  important  question  is,  not  where  and  when  they 
moult,  but  why  Nature  has  provided  migration  for  a  part 
of  each  swallow  family,  and  a  torpid  sleep  under  water, 
and  in  crevices  of  rocks,  for  the  remainder  of  the  same 
families.  I  cannot  but  conclude  that  there  is  yet  the 
greatest  burden  of  proof  remaining  with  those  who  main- 
tain the  theory  of  migration. 


THE  FLOWEKS   OF  AUTUMN. 

The  student  of  Nature,  who  is  accustomed  to  general 
observation,  cannot  fail  to  have  noticed  the  different 
character  of  the  flowers  of  spring,  summer,  and  autumn. 
Each  season,  as  well  as  climate,  has  a  description  of 
vegetation  peculiar  to  itself ;  for  as  spring  is  not  desti- 
tute of  fruits,  neither  is  autumn  of  flowers,  though  they 
have  in  general  but  little  resemblance  to  one  another. 
Those  of  spring,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  are  deli- 
cate and  herbaceous,  pale  in  their  tints,  and  fragrant  in 
their  odors.  The  summer  flowers  are  larger,  more  bril- 
liant in  their  colors,  and  not  so  highly  perfumed  as  those 
of  spring.  Lastly,  the  flowers  of  autumn  appear  in  un- 
limited profusion,  neither  so  brilliant  as  the  former,  nor 
so  delicate  as  the  latter.  They  are  produced  on  woody 
stalks,  often  in  crowded  clusters,  and  nearly  destitute  of 
fragrance.  The  differences  in  the  general  characteristics 
of  the  flowers  of  different  seasons  are  an  interesting 
theme  of  speculation ;  and  they  represent,  somewhat  im- 
perfectly, the  flowers  of  the  different  latitudes. 

But  there  are  certain  species,  appearing  late  in  the 
autumn,  that  display  the  characters  of  the  spring  flow- 
ers, like  the  neottia,  the  purple  gerardia,  and  the  hedge 
hyssop. 

The  summer  flowers  are  in  their  greatest  splendor  id 
the  latter  part  of  June.     The  greater  number  of  th 
which  commence  their  flowering  in  August  are  autum- 
nal, and  do  not  acquire  their  full  maturity  until 
tember.     The  summer  flowers  are  characterized  by  their 


268  THE  FLOWERS  OF  AUTUMN. 

large  size  and  brilliant  colors,  and  combine  the  two  quali- 
ties of  delicacy  and  splendor  in  a  greater  degree  than 
those  of  any  other  season.  Such  are  the  different  species 
of  the  beautiful  orchis  tribe,  the  cardinal-flower,  the 
cymbidiuru,  the  arethusas.,  and  some  of  the  wild  lilies. 
The  majority  of  the  flowering  shrubs  put  out  their  blos- 
soms in  early  summer,  just  after  the  blossoming  of  the 
fruit-trees.  These  diminish  in  number  as  the  summer 
advances,  and  in  autumn  hardly  one  is  to  be  found  that 
is  not  loaded  with  seeds  or  fruit.  The  flowering  plants 
of  autumn,  however,  though  not  shrubs,  are  woody  in 
their  texture,  and  many  are,  in  fact,  a  kind  of  annual 
shrubbery. 

The  summer  flowers  may  be  said  to  date  their  com- 
mencement with  the  elegant  Canadian  rhodora,  and  to 
end  with  the  alder-leaved  clethra,  a  flowering  shrub  very 
common  in  our  swamps,  bearing  long  slender  spikes  of 
white  blossoms  which  have  the  odor  of  lilacs.  During 
this  interval,  the  most  beautiful  flowering  shrubs  of  our 
climate  unfold  their  blossoms.  The  rhodora  is  followed 
in  succession  by  the  honeysuckles,  the  kalmias,  or  false 
laurels,  the  azaleas,  the  viburnums,  and  many  others  not 
less  important  as  ornaments  of  our  native  landscape. 
The  flowering  of  the  alder-leaved  clethra  marks  the  de- 
cline  of  summer.  After  this,  the  remainder  of  the  month 
of  August  is  a  period  rather  barren  of  wild-flowers.  The 
most  of  those  which  are  peculiar  to  summer  have  faded, 
and  the  autumnal  tribes  are  still  ripening  their  buds. 
There  seems  to  be  a  short  suspension,  during  this  month, 
of  the  efforts  of  Nature,  while  she  is  preparing  to  unfold 
the  brilliant  treasures  of  autumn. 

The  spring  produces  in  the  greatest  abundance  those 
flowers  that  affect  a  northern  latitude.  As  the  season 
advances  we  find  more  of  those  tribes  which  are  peculiar 
to  warm  climates.     The  roses  and  rosaceous  flowers  usu- 


THE  FLOWERS  OF  AUTUMN.  2G9 

ally  appear  in  the  early  summer  weeks,  and  the  flowers 
of  these  genera  are  rare  in  tropical  regions,  being  the 
denizens  chiefly  of  temperate  latitudes.  The  papilio- 
naceous flowers,  of  which  the  greater  numbers  of  sp  i 
are  found  within  the  tropics,  do  not  appear  with  us  in 
profusion  until  the  latter  part  of  summer.  The  prevail- 
in""  hues  of  the  summer  flowers  are  the  different  shades 
of  scarlet,  crimson,  and  purple,  which  grow  paler  as  the 
days  decrease  in  length  and  the  temperature  becomes 
cooler.  Thus  the  bulbous  arethusa,  that  flowers  in  June, 
is  of  a  brilliant  purple  or  crimson ;  while  the  adder's- 
tongue  arethusa,  that  appears  a  month  later,  is  of  a  pale 
lilac.  Our  native  species  of  the  brightest  tints  belong  to 
summer.  Such  are  the  scarlet  lobelia,  the  narrow-leaved 
kalmia,  the  red  lily,  and  the  swamp  rose. 

With  August  appears  a  kind  of  vegetation  unlike  any 
that  has  preceded  it.  The  compound  flowers,  a  very 
extensive  tribe,  begin  to  be  conspicuous.  These  flow- 
are  characteristic  of  vegetation  in  the  autumn,  the  greater 
part  of  them  coming  to  perfection  during  this  season, 
beginning  with  a  few  species  in  the  month  of  August 
All  these  increase  in  beauty  and  variety  until  September 
arrives,  bearing  superb  garlands  of  asters,  sunflowers,  and 
goldenrods,  which,  though  exceeded  in  delicacy  and  bril- 
liancy by  the  earlier  flowers,  are  unsurpassed  in  splendor. 
The  season  of  the  autumnal  flowers  may  be  dated  as  com- 
mencing with  the  flowering  of  the  trumpet-weed,  or  pur- 
ple eupatorium.  This  is  one  of  the  most  conspicuous 
plants  in  our  wet  meadows  during  the  early  part  of 
September.  It  often  grows  perfectly  straight  to  the 
height  of  six  feet,  in  a  favorable  soil,  bearing  at  regular 
distances  around  its  cylindrical  stem  a  whorl  of  ha, 
which  by  their  peculiar  curvature  give  the  plant  a  fan- 
cied resemblance  to  a  trumpet.  Soon  after  this  appear 
the  yellow  gerardias,  bringing  along  with  them  count] 


270  THE  FLOWERS  OF  AUTUMN. 

multitudes  of  asters,  golclenrods,  and  autumnal  dande- 
lions, until  the  uplands  are  universally  spangled  with 
them,  and  gleam  with  a  profusion  of  blossoms  unwit- 
nessed at  any  other  season. 

The  asters  are  the  most  remarkable  of  the  flowers 
of  autumn,  and  are,  in  many  respects,  characteristic  of 
the  season.  Their  stalks  are  woody ;  but  they  are  not 
shrubs,  and  their  flowers  are  more  delicate  than  brilliant. 
The  foreign  asters  which  are  cultivated  in  our  gardens, 
though  exceeding  the  native  species  in  the  brilliancy 
of  their  hues,  are  inferior  to  the  latter  in  elegance  of 
growth,  and  in  the  delicate  structure  of  their  blossoms. 
The  prevailing  coior  of  the  autumnal  flowers  is  yellow ; 
yet  there  is  not  a  single  yellow  aster  among  their  whole 
extensive  tribe.  Near  the  latter  part  of  September  the 
fields  are  covered  with  asters  of  every  shade,  from  the 
deep  blue  of  the  cyaneus  and  the  purple  of  the  New 
England  aster,  to  the  purest  white.  The  walls  and  the 
ed^es  of  the  woods  are  bordered  with  lorn?  rows  of  ^olcl- 
enrods,  and  multitudes  of  gaudy  flowers  have  usurped 
the  dominion  of  the  roses,  hiding  the  summer  shrubbery 
beneath  their  tall  and  spreading  herbage. 

Some  flowers  are  interesting  because  they  are  rare ; 
some  because  they  are  common  and  familiar;  some  at- 
tract our  attention  because  they  are  large,  others  because 
they  are  small.  "We  are  in  the  habit  of  admiring  oppo- 
site qualities  in  very  similar  things.  The  pineweed,  a 
little  plant  that  is  abundant  in  September,  is  interesting 
on  account  of  its  minuteness.  AVe  meet  it  in  dry  pas- 
tures and  on  rustic  roadsides,  on  a  thin  and  sandy  soil, 
in  company  with  the  Trichostema,  a  very  pretty  annual 
with  numerous  blue  flowers,  each  having  two  long  sta- 
mens overarching  the  flower,  so  as  to  resemble  Mice  curls, 
the  common  name  of  the  species.  The  pineweed  never 
fails  to  attract  attention  by  its  multitudes  of  little  star- 


THE   FLOWERS   OF   AUTUMN.  L'71 

like  flowers  covering  the  plant  like  golden  spangles. 
When  the  flower  has  perished  it  is  succeeded  by  a  dia- 
mond-shaped red  capsule,  so  that  the  plant  is  as  pretty 
with  its  red  fruit  as  with  its  yellow  flowers. 

Almost  simultaneously  with  the  tinting  of  the  forest- 
trees  comes  forth  the  last  beautiful  visitant  of  our  fields, 
the  blue-fringed  gentian.  This  little  flower  marks  the 
decline  of  autumnal  vegetation.  It  begins  to  unfold 
itself  during  the  latter  part  of  September,  and  may  often 
be  found  in  the  meadows  after  the  November  frosts  have 
seared  the  verdure  of  the  fields,  and  changed  the  varie- 
gated hues  of  the  forest  into  one  monotonous  tinge  of 
brown  and  purple. 

AVhen  the  woods  are  completely  divested  of  their  foli- 
age, and  the  laudscape  wants  nothing  but  snow  to  yield 
it  the  aspect  of  winter,  the  hamamelis,  or  witch-hazel, 
still  retains  its  yellow  blossoms,  in  defiance  of  the  later 
frosts.  Nothing  is  lively  around  it  but  the  evergreen s, 
and  no  plant  puts  forth  its  blossoms  after  this,  unl 
some  flower  of  spring  should  peep  out  unseasonably  from 
under  the  protection  of  a  sunny  knoll.  The  evergreens 
are  now  in  all  their  beauty,  and  we  search  the  fields 
in  vain  for  aught  but  the  presages  of  winter. 


SEPTEMBER. 

We  have  hardly  become  familiar  with  summer  ere 
autumn  arrives  with  its  cool  nights,  its  foggy  mornings, 
and  its  clear  brilliant  days.  Yet  the  close  of  summer  is 
but  the  commencement  of  a  variety  of  pleasant  rural 
occupations,  of  reaping  and  fruit-gathering,  and  the  still 
more  exciting  sports  of  the  field.  After  this  time  we  are 
comparatively  exempt  from  the  extremes  of  temperature, 
and  we  are  free  to  ramble  at  any  distance,  without  ex- 
posure to  sudden  showers,  that  so  often  spring  up  in  sum- 
mer without  warning  us  of  their  approach.  Though  the 
spicy  odors  of  June  are  no  longer  wafted  upon  the  gales, 
there  is  a  clearness  and  freshness  in  the  atmosphere  more 
agreeable  than  fragrance,  giving  buoyancy  to  the  mind 
and  elasticity  to  the  frame. 

The  various  employments  of  the  farmer  are  changed 
into  agreeable  recreations  ;  and  the  anxious  toils  of  plant- 
ing and  haymaking  have  given  place  to  the  less  weari- 
some and  more  exhilarating  labors  of  the  harvest.  Beside 
the  pleasures  of  the  sportsman,  there  are  successions  of 
fruit-gatherings  and  rural  excursions  of  various  kinds, 
from  the  be™nin£  of  this  month  to  the  end  of  the 
next,  that  impart  to  the  young  many  cheerful  themes 
for  remembrance  during  the  rest  of  their  days.  The 
provident  simpler  may  be  seen  upon  the  hills  busily 
employed  in  gathering  medicinal  plants  for  her  own 
humble  dispensary.  Close  by  her  side  are  neatly  bound 
sheaves  of  thoroughwort,  hardback,  bear-berry,  penny- 
royal, and  life-everlasting,  which  she  benevolently  pro- 


SEPTEMBER.  273 

vides  for  the  supply  of  her  neighborhood.  And  while 
thus  employed,  she  feels  the  reward  of  the  just  in  the 
pleasing  contemplation  of  the  good  she  may  perform, 
when  winter  comes  with  its  fevers  and  colds. 

There  is  no  season  when  the  landscape  presents  so 
beautiful  an  appearance  just  before  sunset,  as  during  this 
month.  The  grass  has  a  singular  velvety  greenings,  being 
without  any  mixture  of  downy  tassels  and  panicles  of 
seeds.  For  the  present  covering  of  the  fields  is  chiefly 
the  second  growth  of  vegetation,  after  the  first  has  been 
mowed  by  the  farmer  or  cropped  by  the  grazing  herds. 
The  herbage  displays  little  but  the  leaves,  which  have 
been  thickened  in  their  growth  and  made  green  by  the 
early  rains  of  autumn.  When  the  atmosphere  has  its 
usual  autumnal  clearness  and  the  sun  is  just  declining, 
while  his  rays  gleam  horizontally  over  the  fields,  the 
plain  exhibits  the  most  brilliant  verdure,  unlike  that  of 
the  earlier  months.  When  this  wide  landscape  of  uni- 
form greenness  is  viewed  in  opposition  to  the  blue  firma- 
ment, it  seems  as  if  the  earth  and  the  sky  were  vying 
with  each  other  in  the  untarnished  loveliness  of  their 
appropriate  colors. 

There  is  usually  a  serenity  of  the  weather  for  the  greater 
part  of  September,  unknown  to  the  other  autumn  months. 
Yet  this  is  no  time  for  inaction;  for  the  temperate  cli- 
mate, too  pleasant  for  confinement,  and  too  cool  for  indo- 
lent repose,  invites  even  the  weary  to  ramble.  Of  all 
the  months,  the  climate  of  September  is  the  most  equable 
and  salubrious,  and  nearly  the  same  temperature  is  waft- 
ed from  every  quarter  of  the  heavens.  The  sea-Li 
spring  up  from  the  ocean  almost  with  the  mildness  of  the 
southwest,  and  the  rude  north-wind  has  been  softened 
into  a  delightful  blandness  by  his  tender  dalliance  with 
summer. 

One  of  the  charms  of  the  present  month  is  the  profusion 

12*  R 


274  SEPTEMBER. 

of  bright-colored  fruits  that  meet  the  eye  on  every  side 
in  the  deserted  haunts  of  the  flowers.  The  scarlet  berries 
of  the  nightshade,  varied  with  their  blossoms,  hang  like 
clusters  of  rubies  from  the  crevices  in  the  stone-walls 
through  which  the  vines  have  made  their  clambering 
tour.  On  each  side  of  the  fences  the  elder-trees  in  inter- 
rupted rows  are  bending  down  with  the  weight  of  their 
dark  purple  fruit,  and  the  catbird  may  be  seen  busily 
gathering  them  for  his  noonday  repast.  Above  all,  the 
barberry-bushes  scattered  over  the  hills,  some  in  irregu- 
lar clumps,  others  following  the  lines  of  the  stone-walls, 
down  narrow  lanes  and  over  sandy  hills,  with  their  long- 
slender  branches  fringed  with  delicate  racemes  of  varie- 
gated  fruit,  changing  from  a  Greenish  white  to  a  bright 
scarlet,  form  hedge-rows  as  beautiful  as  art,  without  its 
formality. 

September  is  the  counterpart  of  June,  and  displays  the 
transformation  of  the  flowers  of  early  summer  into  the 
ripe  and  ruddy  harvest.  The  wild-cherry  trees  are  heav- 
ily laden  with  their  dark  purple  clusters,  and  flocks  of 
robins  and  wax  wings  are  busy  all  the  day  in  their  merry 
plunder  among  the  branches.  But  in  the  fruits  there  is 
less  to  be  loved  than  in  the  flowers,  to  which  imagination 
is  prone  to  assign  some  moral  attributes.  The  various 
fruits  of  the  harvest  we  prize  as  good  and  bounteous  gifts. 
But  flowers  win  our  affections,  like  beings  endowed  with 
life  and  thought ;  and  when  we  notice  their  absence  or 
their  departure  we  feel  a  painful  sense  of  melancholy, 
as  when  we  bid  adieu  to  living  friends.  With  flowers 
we  associate  the  sweetness,  the  loveliness,  and  the  dear 
and  bright  remembrances  of  spring.  Like  human  beings, 
they  have  contributed  to  our  moral  enjoyments.  But 
there  are  no  such  ideas  associated  with  the  fruits,  and 
while  the  orchards  are  resplendent  with  their  harvest, 
they  can  never  affect  the  mind  like  the  sight  of  flowers. 


SEPTEMBER.  275 

The  birds  are  almost  silent;  now  and  then  we  hear 
one  piping  a  few  broken  strains,  but  he  does  not  seem  to 
be  pleased  with  his  own  song,  and  no  one  answers  him 
from  his  feathered  comrades.  Their  season  oi"  departure 
is  near,  and  numerous  cares  distract  the  tuneful  band. 
The  swallows  are  no  longer  seen  with  twittering  flight 
skimming  along  the  surface  of  the  waters,  or  sailing  aloft 
in  the  air  to  warn  the  swain  of  coming  showers.  The 
little  busy  wren,  one  of  our  latest  warblers,  is  also  silent, 
and  all  are  slowly  leaving  us  one  after  another.  It  is  a 
pleasant  occupation  to  watch  their  various  movements, 
their  altered  manners,  and  their  unwonted  shyness.  They 
sing  no  more,  but  twitter,  chirrup,  and  complain,  always 
in  motion,  flying  from  tree  to  tree,  and  busy  like  those 
preparing  for  a  long  journey. 

But  as  the  birds  have  become  silent,  the  insect  myri- 
ads, having  attained  the  maturity  of  their  lives,  are  in 
glad  chorus  with  all  their  little  harps.  The  fields  are 
covered  with  crickets  and  grasshoppers,  and  the  whole 
air  resounds  with  their  hissing  melodies.  This  is  the 
honeymoon  of  their  transient  lifetime,  and  they  are 
merrily  singing  their  conjugal  ditties,  while  the  autum- 
nal frosts  are  rapidly  approaching  to  put  an  end  to  their 
pleasures  and  their  lives.  While  chirping  night  and  day 
among  the  green  herbage,  they  are  but  chanting  the  death- 
notes  of  their  own  brief  existence.  The  little  merry  mul- 
titude, to  whose  myriad  voices  we  are  now  listening  with 
delight,  contains  not  one  individual  of  those  who  were, 
chirping  in  their  places  a  year  ago.  All  that  generation 
has  passed  away,  and  ere  another  spring  arrives,  the  present 
multitudinous  choir  will  have  perished  likewise,  to  yield 
their  places  to  new  millions,  which  the  next  summer  will 
usher  into  life.  But  they  take  no  thought  of  the  morrow, 
and  like  true  Epicureans,  while  the  frosts  are  gathering 
around  them,  they  sing  and  make  merry  until  thi 


276  SEPTEMBER. 

drives  them  into  their  retreats.  One  tribe  after  another 
discontinues  its  song,  until  the  hard  frosts  arrive,  and 
leave  the  woods  lonely  and  silent,  but  for  the  screaming 
of  jays,  the  cawing  of  ravens,  and  the  moaning  of  the 
winds  as  they  nass  over  the  graves  of  the  departed  things 
of  summer. 


BIRDS  OF  THE  NIGHT. 

Numerous  swarms  of  insects  and  many  small  quadru- 
peds that  require  darkness  for  their  security  come  abroad 
only  during  the  night  or  twilight.  These  creatures  would 
multiply  almost  without  check,  were  it  not  that  certain 
birds,  having  the  power  of  seeing  in  the  dark,  and  being 
partially  blinded  by  daylight,  are  forced  to  seek  their  food 
in  the  night.  Many  species  of  insects,  not  strictly  noc- 
turnal,—  those  in  particular  that  pass  their  life  chiefly  in 
the  air,  —  are  most  active  after  dewfall.  Hence  the  very 
late  hour  at  which  certain  species  of  Swallows  retire  to 
rest,  the  period  of  sunset  and  early  twilight  affording 
them  a  fuller  repast  than  any  other  part  of  the  day. 
No  sooner  has  the  Swallow  gone  to  rest  than  the  Night- 
Jar  and  Whippoorwill  come  forth  to  prey  on  the  larger 
kinds  of  aerial  insects.  The  bat,  an  animal  of  antediluvian 
type,  comes  out  a  little  earlier,  and  assists  in  lessening 
these  multitudinous  swarms.  The  small  Owls,  though 
they  pursue  the  larger  beetles  and  moths,  direct  their 
efforts  chiefly  at  the  small  quadrupeds  that  steal  out  in 
the  twilight  to  nibble  the  tender  herbs  and  grasses.  Tim-. 
the  night,  except  the  hours  of  total  darkness,  is  witli  many 
species  of  animals,  though  they  pursue  their  objects  with 
great  stillness  and  silence,  a  period  of  general  activity. 

The   birds   of  the   night   may  be  classed    under   two 
heads,  including,  beside  the  true  nocturnal  birds,  thai 
abroad  in  the  night  to  seek  their  subsistence,  those  diur- 
nal birds  that  continue  their  songs.     There  arc  other 
cies  that  are  quiet  botli  at  noonday  and  midnight     Such 


278  BIRDS   OF   THE  NIGHT. 

is  the  Chimney-Swallow.  This  bird  employs  the  middle 
of  the  day  in  sleep  after  excessive  activity  from  the  ear- 
liest dawn.  It  is  seen  afterwards  circling  about  at  the 
decline  of  day,  and  is  sometimes  abroad  in  fine  weather 
the  greater  part  of  the  night,  when  the  young  require 
almost  unremitted  exertions  on  the  part  of  the  old  birds 
to  procure  their  subsistence. 

The  true  nocturnal  birds,  of  which  the  Owl  and  the 
Whippoorwill  are  prominent  examples,  are  distinguished 
by  a  peculiar  sensibility  of  the  eye  that  enables  them  to 
see  clearly  by  twilight  and  in  cloudy  weather,  while  they 
are  dazzled  by  the  broad  light  of  day.  Their  organs  of 
hearing  are  proportionally  delicate  and  acute.  Their 
wing-feathers  have  a  peculiar  downy  softness,  so  that  they 
move  through  the  air  without  the  usual  fluttering  sounds 
that  attend  the  flight  of  other  birds.  Hence  they  are 
able  to  steal  unawares  upon  their  prey,  and  to  make  their 
predal  excursions  without  disturbing  the  general  silence 
of  the  hour.  This  noiseless  flight  is  remarkable  in  the 
Owl,  as  may  be  observed  if  a  tame  one  is  confined  in  a 
room,  when  we  can  perceive  his  motions  only  by  our 
sight.  It  is  remarkable  that  this  peculiar  structure  of  the 
wino'-feathers  does  not  exist  in  the  Woodcock,  which  is  a 
nocturnal  feeder.  Nature  makes  no  useless  provisions  for 
her  creatures.  Hence  this  bird,  that  obtains  its  food  by 
disfgins  into  the  ground  and  takes  no  part  of  it  while  on 
the  wing,  has  no  need  of  such  a  contrivance.  Neither 
stillness  nor  stealth  would  assist  him  in  digging  for  his 
helpless  prey. 

THE    OWL. 

Anions  the  nocturnal  birds  the  most  celebrated  is  the 
Owl,  of  which  there  are  many  species,  varying  from  the 
size  of  an  Eagle  down  to  the  Acadian,  which  is  no  larger 


BIRDS   OF   THE   NIGHT.  279 

than  a  Robin.  The  resemblance  of  the  Owl  to  the  feline 
race  has  been  a  frequent  subject  of  remark.  Like  tin- 
cat,  he  sees  most  clearly  by  twilight  or  the  light  of  the 
moon,  seeks  his  prey  in  the  night,  and  spends  the  greater 
part  of  the  day  in  sleep.  This  likeness  is  made  stronger 
by  his  earlike  tufts  of  feathers,  that  correspond  with*  the 
ears  of  a  quadruped;  by  his  large  head  ;  his  round,  full, 
and  glaring  eyes,  set  widely  apart;  by  the  extreme  con- 
tractility of  the  pupil ;  and  by  his  peculiar  habit  of  sur- 
prising his  victims  by  watchfulness  and  stealth.  His 
eyes  are  partially  encircled  by  a  disk  of  feathers,  giving 
a  remarkably  significant  expression  to  his  face.  His 
hooked  bill,  turned  downwards  so  as  to  resemble  the  nose 
in  the  human  face,  the  general  flatness  of  his  features, 
and  his  upright  position  produce  a  grave  and  intelligent 
look.  It  was  this  expression  that  caused  him  to  be 
selected  by  the  ancients  as  the  emblem  of  wisdom  and 
to  be  consecrated  to  Minerva. 

The  Owl  is  remarkable  for  the  acuteness  of  his  hearing, 
having  a  large  ear-drum  and  being  provided  with  an  ap- 
paratus by  which  he  can  exalt  this  faculty  when  he  wishes 
to  listen  with  great  attention.  Hence,  while  he  is  noi>  - 
less  in  his  own  motions,  he  is  able  to  perceive  the  least 
sound  from  the  motion  of  any  other  object,  and  overtaki 
his  prey  by  coming  upon  it  in  silence  and  darkness.  The 
stillness  of  his  flight  adds  mystery  to  his  character,  and 
assists  in  making  him  an  object  of  superstitious  dread. 
Aware  of  his  defenceless  condition  in  the  bright  daylight, 
when  his  purblindness  would  prevent  him  from  evading 
the  attacks  of  his  enemies,  he  seeks  some  Becure  retreat 
where  he  may  pass  the  day  unexposed  to  observation. 

It  is  this  necessity  which  has  caused  him  to  make  Ins 
abode  in  desolate  and  rained   buildings,   in    old    tow« 
and  belfries,  and  in  the  crevices  of  dilapidated  walla     hi 
these  places  he  hides  from  the  sight  of  other  birds,  wl 


280  BIRDS   OF   THE  NIGHT. 

regard  him  as  a  common  enemy,  and  who  show  him  no 
mercy  when  they  have  discovered  him.  Here  also  he 
rears  his  offspring,  and  we  associate  his  image  with  these 
solitary  haunts,  as  that  of  the  Loon  with  our  secluded 
lakes.  In  thinly  settled  and  wooded  countries,  he  selects 
the  follows  of  old  trees  and  the  clefts  of  rocks  for  his 
retreats.  All  the  smaller  Owls,  however,  seem  to  multi- 
ply with  the  increase  of  human  population,  subsisting 
upon  the  minute  animals  that  accumulate  in  outhouses, 
orchards,  and  fallows. 

"When  the  Owl  is  discovered  in  his  hiding-place,  the 
alarm  is  given,  and  there  is  a  general  excitement  among 
the  small  birds.  They  assemble  in  great  numbers,  and 
with  loud  chattering  assail  and  annoy  him  in  various 
ways,  and  soon  drive  him  out  of  his  retreat.  The  Jay, 
commonly  his  first  assailant,  like  a  thief  employed  as  a 
thief-taker,  attacks  him  with  great  zeal  and  animation. 
The  Chickadee,  the  Nuthatch,  and  the  Bed-thrush  peck 
at  his  head  and  eyes,  while  other  birds  less  bold  fly  round 
him,  and  by  their  vociferation  encourage  his  assailants 
and  increase  the  terror  of  their  victim. 

It  is  while  sitting  on  the  branch  of  a  tree  or  on  a  fence 
after  his  misfortune  and  escape  that  he  is  most  frequently 
seen  in  the  daytime.  Here  he  has  formed  a  subject  for 
painters,  who  have  generally  introduced  him  into  their 
■pictures  as  he  appears  in  one  of  these  open  situations. 
He  is  sometimes  represented  ensconced  in  his  own  select 
retreat,  apparently  peeping  out  of  his  hiding-place  and 
only  half  concealed ;  and  the  discovery  of  him  in  such 
lonely  places  has  caused  the  supernatural  horrors  attached 
to  his  image.  His  voice  is  supposed  to  bode  misfortune, 
and  his  spectral  visits  are  regarded  as  the  forerunners  of 
death.  His  occupancy  of  deserted  houses  and  ruins  has 
invested  him  with  a  romantic  character,  while  the  poets, 
by  introducing  him  to  deepen  the  force  of  their  pathetic 


BIRDS   OF   THE  NIGHT.  281 

or  gloomy  descriptions,  Lave  enlivened  our  associations 
connected  with  his  image ;  and  he  deserves  therefore  in  a 
special  degree  to  be  classed  among  those  animals  which 
we  call  picturesque. 

Though  the  Owl  was  selected  by  the  ancients  as  the 
emblem  of  wisdom,  the  moderns  have  practically  re- 
nounced this  idea,  which  had  its  foundation  in  the  gravity 
and  not  in  the  real  character  of  the  bird,  which  possesses 
only  the  sly  and  sinister  traits  that  mark  the  feline  race. 
A  very  different  train  of  associations  and  a  new  series  of 
picturesque  images  are  now  suggested  by  the  figure  of  the 
Owl,  who  has  been  more  correctly  portrayed  by  modern 
poetry  than  by  ancient  mythology.  He  is  now  univer- 
sally regarded  as  the  emblem  of  ruins  and  of  desolation, 
—  true  to  his  character  and  habits,  which  are  intimately 
allied  with  this  description  of  scenery. 

I  will  not  enter  into  a  speculation  concerning  the  na- 
ture and  origin  of  those  agreeable  emotions  which  are  so 
generally  produced  by  the  sight  of  objects  that  suggest 
ideas  of  ruins.  It  is  happy  for  us  that  by  the  alchemy 
of  poetry  we  are  able  to  turn  some  of  our  misfortunes 
into  sources  of  melancholy  pleasure,  after  the  poignancy 
of  grief  lias  been  assuaged  by  time.  Nature  has  also 
benevolently  provided  that  many  an  object  that  is  capa- 
ble of  communicating  no  direct  pleasure  to  our  senses 
shall  affect  us  agreeably  through  the  medium  of  sentiment. 
Thus,  the  image  of  the  Owl  awakens  the  sentiment  of 
ruin ;  and  to  this  feeling  of  the  human  soul  we  may  trace 
the  pleasure  we  derive  from  the  sight  of  this  bird  in  his 
appropriate  scenery.  Two  Doves  upon  the  mossy  branch 
of  a  tree,  in  a  wild  and  beautiful  sylvan  retreat,  are  the 
pleasing  emblems  of  love  and  constancy;  but  they  are 
not  more  suggestive  of  poetic  fancies  than  an  Owl  sitting 
upon  an  old  gate-post  near  a  deserted  house. 

I  have  alluded  in  another  page  to  the  faint  sounds  we 


282  BIRDS  OF   THE  NIGHT. 

hear  when  the  birds  of  night,  on  a  still  summer  evening, 
are  flying  over  short  distances  in  a  neighboring  wood. 
There  is  a  feeling  of  mystery  awakened  by  these  sounds 
that  exalts  the  pleasure  we  derive  from  the  delightful  in- 
fluence of  the  hour  and  the  season.     But  the  emotions 
thus  produced  are  of  a  cheerful  kind,  slightly  imbued 
with  sadness,  and  not  equal  in  intensity  to  the  effects  of 
the  hardly  perceptible  sound  occasioned  by  the  flight  of 
the  Owl  as  he  glides  by  in  the  dusk  of  evening  or  in  the 
dim  light  of  the  moon.     Similar  in  effect  is  the  dismal 
voice  of  this  bird,  which  is  harmonized  with  darkness, 
and,  though  in  some  cases  not  unmusical,  is  tuned  as  it 
were  to  the  terrors  of  that  hour  when  he  makes  secret 
warfare  upon  the  sleeping  inhabitants  of  the  wood. 

THE  ACADIAN   OWL,  OR   SAW-WHETTER. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  of  this  family  of  birds  is 
the  little  Acadian  Owl,  whose  note  formerly  excited 
much  curiosity.  In  the  "  Canadian  Naturalist "  an  ac- 
count is  given  of  a  rural  excursion  in  April,  when  the 
attention  of  the  party  was  called,  just  after  sunset,  to  a 
peculiar  sound  heard  in  a  cedar-swamp.  It  was  compared 
to  the  measured  tinkling  of  a  cowbell,  or  to  regular 
strokes  upon  a  piece  of  iron  quickly  repeated.  One  of 
the  party,  who  could  not  describe  the  bird,  remembered 
that  "  during  the  months  of  April  and  May,  and  in  the 
former  part  of  June,  we  frequently  hear  after  nightfall 
the  sound  just  described.  From  its  regularity  it  is 
thought  to  resemble  the  whetting  of  a  saw,  and  hence  the 
bird  from  which  it  proceeds  is  called  the  Saw-Whetter." 

These  singular  sounds  are  the  notes  of  the  Acadian 
Owl.  They  are  like  the  sound  produced  by  the  filing  of 
a  mill-saw,  and  are  said  to  be  the  amatory  note  of  the 
male,  being  heard  only  during  the  season  of  incubation. 


BIRDS   OF   THE   NIGHT.  283 

Mr.  S.  P.  Fowler  informed  me  by  letter  that  "  the  Acadian 
Owl  has  another  note  which  we  frequently  hear  in  the 
autumn  after  the  breeding  season  is  over.  The  parent 
birds,  then  accompanied  by  their  young,  while  hunting 
their  prey  in  the  moonlight,  utter  a  peculiar  note  resem- 
bling a  suppressed  moan  or  low  whistle.  The  little  Aca- 
dian, to  avoid  the  annoyance  of  the  birds  he  would  meet 
by  day,  and  the  blinding  light  of  the  sun,  retires  in  the 
morning,  his  feathers  wet  with  dew  and  rumpled  by  the 
hard  struggles  he  has  encountered  in  seizing  his  prey,  to 
the  gloom  of  the  forest  or  the  thick  swamp.  There, 
perched  on  a  bough  near  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  he  sleeps 
through  a  summer's  day,  the  perfect  picture  of  a  used-up 
little  fellow,  suffering  the  evil  effects  of  a  night's  carouse." 

THE   SCREECH-OWL. 

The  Mottled  Owl,  or  Screech-owl,  is  somewhat  larger 
than  the  Acadian,  or  Whetsaw,  but  not  so  familiar  as  the 
Barn  Owl  of  Europe,  which  he  resembles.  He  builds  in 
the  hollows  of  old  trees  and  in  deserted  buildings,  whither 
he  resorts  in  the  daytime  for  repose  and  security.  His 
voice  is  heard  most  frequently  in  the  latter  part  of  sum- 
mer, when  the  young  owlets  are  abroad.  They  use  their 
cries  for  mutual  salutation  and  recognition.  The  wailing 
note  of  this  Owl  is  singularly  wild  and  not  unmusical.  It 
is  not  properly  a  screech  or  a  scream,  like  that  of  the  hawk 
or  the  peacock,  but  rather  a  sort  of  moaning  melody,  half 
music  and  half  bewailment.  This  plaintive  strain  is  far 
from  disagreeable,  though  it  has  a  cadence  expressive  of 
dreariness  and  desolation.  It  might  be  performed  on  a 
fife,  beginning  with  D  octave  and  running  down  by  quar- 
ter-tones to  a  third  below,  frequently  repeating  the  notes 
with  occasional  pauses  for  about  one  minute.  The  bird 
does  not  slur  his  notes,  but  utters  them  with  a  sort  of 


284  BIRDS   OF   THE   NIGHT. 

tremulous  staccato.  The  separate  notes  may  be  distinctly 
perceived,  though  the  intervals  are  hardly  appreciable. 

The  generality  of  this  family  of  birds  cannot  be  regard- 
ed as  useful.  They  are  only  mischievous  birds  of  prey, 
and  no  more  entitled  to  mercy  or  protection  than  the  Fal- 
cons, to  which  they  are  allied.  All  the  little  Owls,  how- 
ever, though  guilty  of  destroying  small  birds,  are  service- 
able in  ridding  our  fields  and  premises  of  mischievous 
animals.  They  destroy  multitudes  of  large  nocturnal 
insects,  flying  above  the  summits  of  trees  in  pursuit  of 
them,  while  at  other  times  their  flight  is  low,  when  watch- 
ing for  mice  and  moles,  that  run  upon  the  ground.  It  is 
on  account  of  its  low  flight  that  the  Owl  is  seldom  seen 
upon  the  wing.  Bats,  which  are  employed  by  Nature  for 
similar  services,  fall  victims  in  large  numbers  to  the  Owls, 
which  are  the  principal  means  of  checking  their  multi- 
plication. 

An  interesting  family  of  nocturnal  birds  are  the  Moth- 
hunters,  of  which  in  New  England  there  are  only  two 
species,  the  Whippoorwill  and  the  Nighthawk.  These 
birds  resemble  the  Owls  in  some  of  their  habits ;  but 
in  their  structure,  their  mode  of  obtaining  subsistence, 
and  in  their  general  characters  they  resemble  Swallows. 
They  are  shy  and  solitary,  take  their  food  while  on  the 
wing,  abide  chiefly  in  the  deep  woods,  and  come  abroad 
only  at  twilight  or  in  cloudy  weather.  They  remain,  like 
the  Dove,  permanently  paired,  lay  their  eggs  on  the  bare 
ground,  and,  when  perched,  sit  upon  the  branch  length- 
wise, unlike  other  birds.  They  are  remarkable  for  their 
singular  voices,  and  only  one  species  —  the  Whippoor- 
will —  may  be  considered  musical.  They  are  inhabitants 
of  all  parts  of  the  world,  but  are  particularly  numerous 
in  the  warmer  regions  of  North  and  South  America,  where 
the  curiosity  of  the  traveller  is  constantly  excited  by  their 
voices  resembling  human  speech. 


BIRDS   OF  THE   NIGHT.  285 


THE  WHIPPOORWILL. 


The  Whippoorwill  is  well  known  to  the  inhabitants 
of  New  England  by  his  nocturnal  song.  This  is  heard 
chiefly  in  wooded  and  retired  situations,  and  is  associated 
with  the  solitude  of  the  forest  as  well  as  the  silence  of 
the  night.  The  Whippoorwill  is  therefore  emblematic 
of  the  rudeness  of  primitive  nature,  and  his  voice  re- 
minds us  of  seclusion  and  retirement.  Sometimes  he 
wanders  away  from  the  wood  into  the  precincts  of  the 
town,  and  sings  near  our  dwelling-houses.  Such  an  in- 
cident was  formerly  the  occasion  of  superstitious  alarm, 
and  was  regarded  as  an  omen  of  evil  to  the  inmates  of 
the  dwelling.  The  cause  of  these  irregular  visits  is 
probably  the  accidental  abundance  of  a  particular  kind 
of  insects  which  the  bird  has  followed  from  the  woods. 

The  Whippoorwill  in  this  part  of  the  country  is  first 
heard  in  May,  and  continues  vocal  until  the  middle  of 
July.  He  begins  to  sing  at  dusk ;  and  we  usually  hear 
his  note  soon  after  the  Yeery,  the  Philomel  of  our  summer 
evenings,  has  become  silent.  His  song  consists  of  three 
notes,  in  a  sort  of  polka-time,  with  a  slight  rest  after  the 
first  note  in  each  bar,  as  given  below  :  — 


_i *_  pi, — (_ #__[ \ #-- 1 


-7- 


■*?■ 


t 


-?- 


fc 


Whip      poor  wUl    Whip        poor  will    Whip        poor  will    Whip. 

I  should  remark  that  the  bird  begins  his  song  with  the 
second  syllable  of  his  name,  if  we  may  suppose  him  to 
utter  the  word,  or  I  might  say  with  the  second  note  in 
the  bar.  Some  birds  occasionally,  though  seldom,  fall 
short  of  these  musical  intervals,  as  they  are  written  on  the 
scale,  and  an  occasional  cluck  is  heard  when  we  are  near 
the  singer.     The  notes  of  the  Quail  so  clearly  resemble 


286  BIRDS   OF   THE   NIGHT. 

those  of  the  Whippoorwill  that  I  give  them  below,  that 
they  may  be  compared. 


XT 


i 


*3EE£ 


Bob        White  More        Wet. 

So  great  is  the  similarity  of  the  notes  of  these  two  birds, 
that  those  of  the  Quail  need  only  be  repeated  in  succes- 
sion without  pause  to  be  mistaken,  if  heard  in  the  night, 
for  those  of  the  Whippoorwill.  They  are  uttered  with  a 
similar  intonation  ;  but  the  voice  of  the  nocturnal  bird  is 
more  harsh,  and  his  song  consists  of  three  notes  instead 
of  two,  and  is  pitched  a  few  tones  higher. 

The  song  of  the  Whippoorwill,  though  wanting  in  mel- 
lowness of  tone,  as  may  be  perceived  when  we  are  near 
him,  is  very  agreeable  except  to  a  few,  notwithstanding 
the  superstitions  associated  with  it.  Some  persons  are 
not  disposed  to  class  the  Whippoorwill  among  singing- 
birds,  re^ardino:  him  as  more  vociferous  than  musical. 
But  it  would  be  difficult  to  determine  in  what  respect  his 
notes  differ  from  the  songs  of  other  birds,  except  that  they 
approach  more  nearly  to  the  precision  of  artificial  music. 
Yet  it  will  be  admitted  that  a  considerable  distance  is 
required  to  "  lend  enchantment "  to  the  sound  of  his 
voice.  In  some  retired  and  solitary  districts,  the  Whip- 
poorwills  are  so  numerous  as  to  be  annoying  by  their  vo- 
ciferations. But  in  those  places  where  only  a  few  individ- 
uals are  heard  during  the  season,  their  music  is  a  source 
of  great  pleasure,  and  constitutes  one  of  the  principal 
charms  of  the  neighborhood. 

I  was  witness  of  this  some  years  ago,  in  one  of  my 
botanical  rambles  in  Essex  County,  which  is  for  the  most 
part  too  open  and  cleared  to  suit  the  habits  of  these  soli- 
tary birds.     On  one  of  these  excursions,  after  walking 


BIRDS   OF   THE   NIGHT.  287 

several  hours  over  a  rather  wild  region  I  arrived  at  a 
very  romantic  spot,  consisting  of  an  open  level,  com- 
pletely surrounded  by  woods.  Nature  uses  her  ordinary 
materials  to  form  her  most  delightful  landscapes,  and 
causes  them  to  rise  up  as  it  were  by  magic  when  we  least 
expect  them.  Here  I  suddenly  found  myself  encom- 
passed by  a  charming  amphitheatre  of  hills  and  woods, 
and  in  a  valley  so  beautiful  that  I  could  not  have  imag- 
ined anything  equal  to  it.  A  neat  cottage  stood  with 
only  one  other  in  tliis  spot.  It  was  entirely  wanting 
in  any  architectural  decoration,  which  I  am  confident 
would  have  dissolved  the  spell  that  made  the  whole 
scene  so  attractive.  It  was  occupied  by  a  shoemaker, 
whom  I  recognized  as  an  old  acquaintance  and  a  worthy 
man,  who  resided  here  with  his  wife  and  children,  whose 
mode  of  living  was  one  of  the  few  vestiges  of  ancient 
simplicity.  I  asked  them  if  they  were  contented  while 
living  so  far  from  the  town.  The  wife  of  the  cottager 
replied  that  they  suffered  in  the  winter  from  their  soli- 
tude ;  but  in  the  warm  season  they  preferred  it  to  the 
town,  "  for  in  this  place  we  hear  all  the  singing-birds 
early  and  late,  and  the  "Whippoorwill  sings  every  night 
during  May  and  June."  It  was  the  usual  habit  of  this 
bird,  they  told  me,  to  sing  both  in  the  morning  and  even- 
ing twilight ;  but  if  the  moon  should  rise  late  in  the 
evening  after  it  had  become  silent,  it  would  begin  to 
sing  anew  as  if  to  welcome  her  rising.  May  the  birds 
continue  to  sing  to  this  happy  family,  and  may  the  voice 
of  the  Whippoorwill  never  bode  them  any  misfortune  ! 

THE   NIGHT-JAR. 

The  Night-Tar,  or  Nighthawk,  is  similar  in  many 
points  to  the  WhippoorwiU.  The  two,  indeed,  were  for- 
merly considered  identical;  but  more  careful  investiga- 


288  BIRDS   OF   THE  NIGHT. 

tion  has  proved  them  to  be  distinct  species.  I  believe 
that  some  extraordinary  pedant  has  also  demonstrated 
that  they  belong  to  two  distinct  genera.  Let  us  take  heed 
that  science  do  not  degenerate,  like  metaphysics,  into  a 
mere  vocabulary  of  distinctions  which  only  the  mind  of 
a  Hudibras  can  appreciate.  The  two  birds,  however,  are 
not  identical.  The  Nighthawk  is  a  smaller  bird,  has  no 
song,  and  exhibits  many  of  the  ways  of  the  Swallow. 
He  is  marked  by  a  white  spot  on  his  wings,  which  is  very 
apparent  during  his  flight.  He  seems  to  take  his  prey 
in  a  higher  region  of  the  atmosphere,  being  frequently 
seen,  at  twilight  and  in  cloudy  weather,  soaring  above  the 
house-tops  in  quest  of  insects.  The  Whippoorwill  finds 
his  subsistence  chiefly  near  the  ground,  flitting  about  the 
farmyard,  the  fences,  and  wood-piles,  and  taking  an  insect 
from  a  branch  of  a  tree,  while  poising  himself  on  the 
wing  like  a  Humming-Bird.  He  is  never  seen  circling 
aloft  like  the  Nighthawk. 

The  movements  of  the  Nighthawk  during  his  flight  are 
performed  generally  in  circles,  and  are  very  picturesque. 
The  birds  are  usually  seen  in  pairs  at  such  times,  but 
occasionally  there  are  numbers  assembled  together ;  and 
one  might  suppose  they  were  engaged  in  a  sort  of  aerial 
dance,  and  that  they  were  emulating  each  other  in  their 
attempts  at  soaring  to  a  great  height.  It  is  evident  that 
these  evolutions  proceed  in  part  from  the  pleasure  of 
motion,  but  they  are  also  a  few  of  their  ways  during 
courtship.  While  they  are  soaring  and  circling  in  the 
air,  they  occasionally  utter  a  shrill  note  which  has  been 
likened  to  the  word  Piramiclig,  forming  a  name  by  which 
the  bird  is  sometimes  called.  ISTow  and  then  they  are 
seen  to  dart  with  a  rapid  motion  to  take  a  passing  insect. 

While  performing  these  circumvolutions,  the  male  occa- 
sionally dives  perpendicularly  downwards,  through  a  con- 
siderable space,  uttering,  as   he   makes  a  sudden   turn 


BIRDS   OF   THE   NIGHT.  289 

upwards  at  the  "bottom  of  his  descent,  a  singular  note 
resembling  the  twang  of  a  viol-string.  This  sound  has 
been  supposed  to  be  made  by  the  action  of  the  air  as  the 
bird  dives  swiftly  through  it  with  open  mouth.  This  is 
proved  to  be  an  error  by  the  fact  that  the  European 
species  makes  a  similar  sound  while  sitting  on  its  perch. 
Others  think  that  this  diving  motion  of  the  bird  is  de- 
signed to  intimidate  those  who  seem  to  be  approaching 
his  nest;  but  the  bird  performs  the  same  manoeuvre 
when  he  has  no  nest  to  defend.  This  habit  is  peculiar 
to  the  male,  and  it  is  probably  one  of  those  fantastic 
motions  which  are  noticed  among  the  male  Doves  as  arti- 
fices to  attract  the  attention  of  the  female. 

This  twanging  note,  made  during  the  precipitate  de- 
scent of  the  Nighthawk  through  the  air,  is  one  of  the 
picturesque  sounds  of  Nature,  and  is  heard  most  fre- 
quently in  the  morning  twilight,  when  the  birds  are  col- 
lecting their  early  repast  of  insects.  If  we  should  go 
abroad  before  daylight  or  at  the  earliest  dawn,  we  might 
see  them  circling  about,  and  hear  their  cry  frequently 
repeated.  Suddenly  this  twanging  sound  excites  our 
attention,  and  if  we  were  not  acquainted  with  it  or 
with  the  habits  of  the  bird,  we  should  feel  a  sensation 
of  mystery,  for  there  seems  to  be  nothing  like  it  in  na- 
ture. The  sound  produced  by  the  European  species  is  a 
sort  of  drumming  or  whizzing  note,  like  the  hum  of  a 
spinning-wheel.  The  male  begins  this  performance  about 
dark,  and  continues  it  at  intervals  a  great  part  of  the 
night.  It  is  effected  while  the  breast  is  inflated  with 
air,  like  that  of  a  cooing  Dove.  The  Nighthawk  inflates 
its  breast  in  a  similar  manner,  and  utters  a  similar  sound 
when  any  one  approaches  the  nest. 

The  habit  of  the  Whippoorwill  and  Nighthawk  of  sit- 
ting lengthwise  and  not  crosswise  on  their  perch  has 
excited  some  curiosity ;  for  it  is  well  known  that  these 

13  8 


290  BIRDS   OF   THE   NIGHT. 

birds  are  capable  of  grasping  a  perch  and  sitting  upon  it. 
On  the  contrary,  they  roost  upon  a  large  and  nearly  hori- 
zontal branch  in  a  longitudinal  direction.  The  design 
of  nature  in  this  instinct  is  to  afford  the  bird  that  con- 
cealment which  is  needful  for  its  protection  in  the  day- 
time. When  thus  placed,  he  is  entirely  hidden  from  sight 
below.  The  Owl  is  protected  by  another  mode  of  con- 
cealment. He  sits  very  erect,  near  the  bole  of  the  tree, 
and  draws  his  tail-feathers  right  against  the  branch,  so 
that  he  can  hardly  be  seen  from  below.  The  Nighthawk, 
while  reposing  lengthwise  upon  his  perch,  would,  if  his 
foe  were  looking  down  upon  him,  hardly  be  distinguished 
when  his  mottled-brown  plumage  made  no  contrast  in 
color  with  the  bark  of  the  tree. 


THE  MOCKING-BIRD. 

I  will  now  turn  my  attention  to  those  diurnal  birds 
that  sing  in  the  night  as  well  as  in  the  day,  and  are 
classed  under  the  general  appellation  of  Nightingales. 
These  birds  do  not  confine  their  singing  to  the  night,  like 
the  Whippoorwill,  and  are  most  vocal  by  twilight  and 
the  light  of  the  moon.  Europe  has  several  of  these  min- 
strels of  the  night,  beside  the  true  Philomel  of  poetry 
and  romance.  In  the  United  States  the  Mocking-Bird 
enjoys  the  greatest  reputation ;  but  there  are  other  birds 
of  more  solitary  habits  and  less  known,  among  which 
are  the  Eose-breasted  Grosbeak  and  the  Water-Thrush, 
that  sing  in  the  night. 

The  Mocking-Bird  is  well  known  in  the  Middle  and 
Southern  States,  but  seldom  passes  a  season  in  New  Eng- 
land, except  in  the  southern  extremity,  which  seems  to 
be  the  limit  of  its  northern  residence.  Probably  like  the 
Grosbeak,  which  is  constantly  extending  its  range  in 
an  eastern  direction,  the  Mocking-Bird  may  be  gradually 


BIRDS   OF   THE   NIGHT.  291 

making  progress  northwardly ;  so  that  fifty  years  hence 
each  of  these  birds  may  be  common  in  the  New  England 
States.  The  Mocking-Bird  is  familiar  in  his  habits,  fre- 
quenting gardens  and  orchards,  and  perching  on  the  roofs 
of  houses  when  singing,  like  the  common  Robin.  Indeed, 
this  bird  owes  much  of  his  popularity  to  his  familiar  and 
amiable  habits.  Like  the  Eobin,  too,  a  bird  that  sings 
at  all  hours  except  those  of  complete  darkness,  he  is  a 
persevering  songster,  and  seems  to  be  inspired  by  living 
in  the  vicinity  of  man.  In  his  manners,  however,  he 
bears  more  resemblance  to  the  Bed-Thrush,  beino-  dis- 
tinguishecl  by  his  vivacity  and  his  courage  in  repelling 
the  attacks  of  his  enemies. 

The  Mocking-Bird  is  celebrated  throughout  the  world 
for  his  musical  powers;  but  it  is  difficult  to  ascertain 
precisely  the  character  and  quality  of  his  original  notes. 
Some  naturalists  affirm  that  he  has  no  notes  of  his 
own,  but  confines  himself  to  imitations.  That  this  is  an 
error,  all  persons  who  have  listened  to  his  native  wild 
notes  can  testify.  I  should  say,  from  my  own  observa- 
tions, not  only  that  he  has  a  distinct  song,  peculiarly  his 
own,  but  that  his  best  imitations  will  bear  no  compari- 
son with  his  native  notes.  His  common  habit  during 
the  day  is  to  utter  frequently  a  single  strain,  hardly  dis- 
tinguishable from  that  of  the  Bed- Bird,  and  similar  to 
that  of  the  Baltimore  Oriole.  This  seems  to  be  his 
amusement  while  busy  with  the  affairs  of  his  own  house- 
hold and  providing  for  their  wants.  It  is  only  when  con- 
fined in  a  cage  that  he  is  constant  in  his  mimicry.  In 
his  native  woods,  and  especially  at  an  early  hour  in  the 
morning,  when  he  is  not  provoked  to  imitation  by  the 
notes  of  other  birds  and  animals,  he  sometimes  pours  out 
his  own  wild  notes  with  uninterrupted  fervor.  Vet  I 
have  often  listened  vainly  for  hours  to  hear  him  ntter 
anything  more  than  a  few  idle   repetitions   of  monoto- 


292  BIRDS   OF   THE  NIGHT. 

nous  sounds,  interspersed  with  some  ludicrous  variations. 
Why  he  should  discard  his  own  delightful  song  to  tease 
the  listener  with  all  imaginable  discords  is  not  easily 
explained. 

Though  his  powers  of  mimicry  are  the  cause  of  his 
fame,  his  real  merit  is  not  based  upon  these.  He  would 
be  infinitely  more  valuable  as  a  songster,  if  he  were 
incapable  of  imitating  a  single  sound.  I  would  add  that 
as  an  imitator  of  the  songs  of  other  birds  he  is  very 
imperfect,  and  has  been  greatly  overrated  by  our  orni- 
thologists, who  seem  to  vie  with  each  other  in  their 
exaggerations  of  his  powers.  He  cannot  utter  correctly 
the  notes  of  the  rapid  singers.  He  is  successful  only 
in  his  imitations  of  those  birds  whose  notes  are  simple 
and  moderately  delivered.  Hence  he  gives  good  imita- 
tions of  the  Eobin.  He  is,  indeed,  more  remarkable  for 
his  indefatigable  propensity  than  for  his  powers,  in  which 
he  is  exceeded  by  some  Parrots.  Single  sounds,  from 
whatever  source  they  may  come,  —  from  birds,  quadru- 
peds, reptiles,  or  machines,  — he  delivers  very  accurately. 
But  I  have  heard  numbers  of.  Mocking-Birds  in  confine- 
ment attempt  to  imitate  the  Canary  without  success. 
There  is  a  common  saying  that  the  Mocking-Bird  will 
die  of  chagrin  if  placed  in  a  cage  by  the  side  of  a  caged 
Bobolink,  mortified  because  he  cannot  give  utterance 
to  his  rapid  notes.  If  this  would  cause  his  death,  he 
would  also  die  when  confined  near  a  Canary  or  with  any 
of  the  rapid-singing  Finches.  It  is  also  an  error  to  say 
of  his  imitations,  as  writers  assert,  that  they  are  im- 
provements upon  the  originals.  When  he  utters  the 
notes  of  the  Red-Bird,  the  Oriole,  or  the  common  Eobin, 
his  imitations  are  perfect,  but  are  no  clearer  or  sweeter ; 
and  when  he  gives  us  the  screaming  of  a  Jay,  the  mew- 
ing of  a  cat,  or  the  creaking  of  a  cart-wheel,  he  does  not 
change  them  into  music. 


BIRDS   OF   THE   NIGHT.  293 

As  an  original  songster,  estimated  by  the  notes  which 
on  rare  occasions  he  pours  out  in  a  serious  mood  from  his 
own  favorite  spot  and  during  his  favorite  hour,  which 
is  the  earliest  dawn,  the  Mocking-Bird  is  probably  un- 
equalled by  any  American  songster.  His  notes  are  loud, 
varied,  melodious,  and  of  great  compass.  They  may  be 
likened  to  those  of  the  Red-Thrush,  more  forcibly  deliv- 
ered, and  having  more  flute-notes  and  fewer  guttural 
notes  and  sudden  transitions.  He  also  sings  often  on 
the  wing,  and  with  fervor,  while  the  other  Thrushes  sing 
only  from  their  perch.  But  his  song  has  less  variety  than 
that  of  the  Red-Thrush,  and  falls  short  of  it  in  some 
other  respects.  The  Red-Thrush,  however,  has  too  little 
persistence  in  his  singing. 

By  other  writers  the  Mocking-Bird  is  put  forward  as 
superior  to  the  Nightingale.  This  assumption  might  be 
worthy  of  consideration,  if  the  American  bird  were  not 
addicted  to  mimicry.  This  execrable  habit  renders  him 
unfit  to  be  compared  with  the  Nightingale,  whose  song 
also  resembles  that  of  a  Finch  more  than  that  of  a 
Thrush.  His  mocking  habits  almost  annihilate  his  value 
as  a  songster ;  as  the  effect  of  a  concert  would  be  spoiled 
if  the  players  were  constantly  introducing,  in  the  midst 
of  their  serious  music,  snatches  of  vulgar  and  ridiculous 
tunes  and  uncouth  sounds. 


TO   THE  MOCKING-BIRD. 

Carolling  bird,  that  merrily  night  and  day 
Tellest  thy  raptures  from  the  rustling  spray, 
And  wakest  the  morning  with  thy  varied  lay, 

Singing  thy  matins  ;  — 
When  we  have  come  to  hear  thy  sweet  oblation 
Of  love  and  joyanee  from  thy  sylvan  station, 
Why  in  the  place  of  musical  cantation 

Balk  us  with  platings  ? 


294  BIRDS   OF   THE   NIGHT. 

We  stroll  by  moonlight  in  the  dusky  forest 

Where  the  tall  cypress  shields  thee,  fervent  chorist  ! 

And  sit  in  haunts  of  echoes  when  thou  pourest 

Thy  woodland  solo. 
Hark  !  from  the  next  green  tree  thy  song  commences  ; 
Music  and  discord  join  to  mock  the  senses, 
Repeated  from  the  tree-tops  and  the  fences, 

From  hill  and  hollow  ! 

A  hundred  voices  mingle  with  thy  clamor  ; 
Bird,  beast,  and  reptile  take  part  in  thy  drama  ; 
Outspeak  they  all  in  turn  without  a  stammer,  — 

Brisk  Polyglot  ! 
Voices  of  kill-deer,  plover,  duck,  and  dotterel  ; 
Notes,  bubbling,  hissing,  mellow,  sharp,  and  guttural, 
Of  catbird,  cat,  or  cart-wheel,  thou  canst  utter  all, 

And  all  untaught. 

The  raven's  croak,  the  chirrup  of  the  sparrow, 
The  jay's  harsh  note,  the  creaking  of  a  barrow, 
The  hoot  of  owls,  all  join  the  soul  to  harrow 

And  grate  the  ear. 
We  listen  to  thy  quaint  soliloquizing, 
As  if  all  creatures  thou  wert  catechizing, 
Tuning  their  voices,  and  their  notes  revising 

From  far  and  near. 

Sweet  bird,  that  surely  lovest  the  "noise  of  folly," 
Most  musical,  but  never  melancholy  ; 
Disturber  of  the  hour  that  should  be  holy, 

With  sounds  prodigious  ;  — 
Fie  on  thee  !  O  thou  feathered  Paganini  ! 
To  use  thy  little  pipes  to  squawk  and  whinny, 
And  emulate  the  hinge  and  spinning-jenny, 

Making  night  hideous. 

Provoking  melodist  !  why  canst  thou  breathe  us 
No  thrilling  harmony,  no  charming  pathos, 
No  cheerful  song  of  love,  without  a  bathos  ? 

The  Furies  take  thee  ! 
Blast  thy  obstreperous  mirth,  thy  foolish  chatter,  — 
Gag  thee,  exhaust  thy  breath,  and  stop  thy  clatter, 
And  change  thee  to  a  beast,  thou  senseless  prater  ! 

Naught  else  can  check  thee  ! 


BIRDS   OF   THE  NIGHT.  295 

A  lengthened  pause  ensues  ;  hut  hark  again  ! 
From  the  near  woodland,  stealing  o'er  the  plain, 
Comes  forth  a  sweeter  and  a  holier  strain  ! 

Listening  delighted, 
The  gales  breathe  softly,  as  they  bear  along 
The  warbled  treasure,  the  tumultuous  throng 
Of  notes  that  swell  accordant  in  the  song, 

As  love  is  plighted. 

The  echoes,  joyful,  from  their  vocal  cell, 
Leap  with  the  winged  sounds  o'er  hill  and  dell, 
With  kindling  fervor  as  the  chimes  they  tell 

To  wakeful  even  : 
They  melt  upon  the  ear  ;  they  float  away, 
They  rise,  they  sink,  they  hasten,  they  delay, 
And  hold  the  listener  with  bewitching  sway, 

Like  sounds  from  heaven. 


BUINS. 

To  all  whose  minds  have  received  an  ordinary  amount 
of  cultivation  there  are  few  objects  more  interesting  than 
the  remains  of  antiquity,  —  whether,  like  those  of  Greece 
and  Kome,  they  call  up  the  history  of  the  noblest  works 
of  art  and  deeds  of  renown,  and  like  those  of  Egypt, 
carry  back  the  mind  to  the  age  of  primeval  superstition, 
or,  like  the  ruins  of  the  earth  itself,  they  repeat  the  story 
of  the  antediluvian  periods,  before  the  present  races  of 
animals  appeared.  In  our  own  country  where  these 
relics  of  ancient  times,  excepting  those  of  a  geological 
description,  are  almost  unknown,  the  people  in  general 
can  hardly  sympathize  with  that  love  of  ruins  which  is 
almost  a  passion  with  some  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Old 
World.  We  have  no  ruined  castles  to  remind  us  of  an- 
cient baronial  splendor,  and  of  the  perils  and  heroism  of 
the  feudal  ages;  no  remains  of  gorgeous  temples  or  tri- 
umphal arches,  to  record  the  deeds  of  a  past  generation. 
The  ancient  history  of  this  continent  lives  chiefly  in 
tradition ;  and  the  traveller  who  happens  to  discover 
one  of  the  few  relics  of  ancient  American  architecture 
seeks  in  vain  for  any  record  that  will  explain  its  character 
or  design. 

«Yet  the  absence  of  the  ruins  of  antiquity  may  have  a 
tendency  to  render  our  people  more  alive  to  impressions 
from  those  of  a  humble  description  and  of  recent  ori- 
gin which  abound  in  all  places.  When  strolling  over 
the  scenes  of  our  own  land,  who  has  not  often  stopped 
to  ponder  over  the  ruins  of  some  old  dwelling-house,  and 


ruins.  297 

to  bring  before  the  mind  the  possible  history  of  its  in- 
mates ?  There  we  perceive  the  completion  of  a  domestic 
romance.  A  series  of  adventures  has  been  there  com- 
menced, continued,  and  brought  to  an  end.  Imagination 
is  free  to  indulge  itself  in  making  up  the  history  of  the 
human  beings  who  have  lived  and  died  there,  and  of 
the  romantic  adventures  which  have  been  connected  with 
it.  We  do  not  always  endeavor  to  read  this  history ;  but 
there  is  a  shadowy  conception  of  something  associated 
with  the  old  crumbling  walls  that  would  be  striking  and 
romantic.  To  this  pleasing  occupation  of  the  fancy  may 
undoubtedly  be  ascribed  a  portion  of  the  interest  always 
excited  by  a  view  of  a  ruined  or  deserted  house.  A  still 
deeper  effect  is  produced  by  the  sight  of  a  mouldering 
temple  or  a  ruined  castle,  which  are  allied  with  deeds 
and  events  of  greater  magnitude. 

I  am  disposed  to  attribute  the  pleasure  arising  from 
the  contemplation  of  ruins  to  an  exalted  affection  of 
the  human  soul,  to  a  veneration  of  the  past,  and  a 
longing  to  recover  the  story  of  bygone  ages.  A  ruin  is 
delightful  as  the  scene  of  some  old  tradition,  a  specimen 
of  ancient  art  and  magnificence,  and  as  evidence  of  the 
truth  of  history.  Nothing,  indeed,  serves  to  place  so 
vividly  before  the  mind  the  picture  of  any  historic  event 
as  the  ivied  and  dilapidated  walls  of  the  building  in  which 
it  occurred.  There  is  likewise  an  emotion  of  cheerful 
melancholy  which  is  awakened  by  viewing  a  pile  of  ruins, 
an  old  house,  or  an  old  church,  venerable  with  the  mosses 
of  time  and  decay.  There  are  other  objects,  scenes,  and 
situations  that  produce  similar  effects  upon  the  mind, 
such  as  a  sight  of  the  ocean  when  agitated  by  a  tempest, 
from  a  place  of  security.  A  beacon  and  a  lighthouse 
belong  to  the  same  class  of  objects  ;  and  above  all,  a  mon- 
ument by  the  sea-shore,  erected  to  commemorate  some 
remarkable  shipwreck,  awakens  a  train   of    melancholy 


298  euins. 

reflections  nearly  allied  to  the  sentiment  of  ruins.  But 
it  is  not  every  scene  of  ruins  that  is  capable  of  yielding 
pleasure  to  the  beholder.  There  is  nothing  agreeable  in 
a  view  of  the  embers  of  a  wide  conflagration,  except  a 
gratification  of  the  curiosity.  Such  a  spectacle  brings 
to  the  mind  only  the  idea  of  dissolution  and  misfortune, 
which  is  painful,  and  there  is  nothing  connected  with  it 
to  awaken  any  counteracting  sentiment.  On  the  other 
hand,  every  mind  is  agreeably  affected  by  the  sight  of  an 
old  house,  no  longer  the  habitation  of  man,  serving  only 
as  the  day  retreat  of  the  owl  and  the  fancied  residence 
of  beings  of  the  invisible  world.  There  is  a  propensity 
among  men  to  associate  every  ruined  edifice,  however 
great  or  humble,  with  some  romance  or  superstition ;  and 
our  own  people,  who  have  no  magnificent  ruins,  indulge 
the  sentiment  which  is  awakened  by  them  in  their  legends 
of  haunted  houses,  and  by  identifying  these  superstitions 
with  every  deserted  habitation. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  although  a  cottage  is  more 
poetical  than  a  palace,  when  each  is  in  a  perfect  condi- 
tion, a  ruined  palace  is  more  poetical  than  a  ruined 
cottage.  A  certain  amount  of  grandeur  must  be  asso- 
ciated  with  a  ruin  to  render  it  very  effective.  After  a 
family  have  deserted  their  habitation  of  luxury  and 
splendor,  when  they  themselves  have  gone  down  to  the 
crave,  and  their  old  mansion  is  crumbling  with  the  rav- 
ages  of  time,  we  lose  all  that  invidious  feeling  which 
often  prevents  us  from  sympathizing  with  the  wealthy 
when  they  are  living.  They  are  now  on  a  level  with  the 
humblest  cottagers,  and  we  look  upon  their  ruined  abode 
with  a  feeling  of  regret  for  all  the  elegance  and  greatness 
that  have  passed  away.  Indeed,  the  more  noble  and 
magnificent  the  edifice  in  its  original  state,  the  deeper  is 
the  emotion  with  which  we  contemplate  its  ruins.  This 
circumstance  yields  a  singular  charm  to  the  remains  of 


RUINS.  209 

the  ancient  Grecian  temples,  and  to  those  Gothic  Castles 
that  add  a  romantic  character  to  certain  European  land- 
scapes. 

Some  of  the  interesting  accompaniments  of  a  ruined 
building  are  the  plants  which  are  found  clustering  around 
its  old  roof  and  walls.  Nature  always  decorates  what 
time  has  destroyed,  and  when  the  ornaments  of  art  have 
crumbled,  she  rears  in  their  place  garlands  from  her  own 
wilds,  and  the  building,  no  longer  beautiful,  is  adorned 
with  the  greenness  of  vegetation.  Hence  certain  plants 
have  become  intimately  allied  with  ruins,  and  derive  from 
this  alliance  a  peculiarly  romantic  interest.  Such  are  the 
mosses  and  lichens,  the  evergreen  ferns,  the  creeper,  and 
the  most  of  the  saxatile  plants  in  America ;  in  Europe, 
the  yellow  wall-flower,  the  chenopody,  and  the  ivy. 

In  every  ruin,  therefore,  we  see  the  commencement  of 
a  new  and  beautiful  creation.  When  a  tree  has  fallen 
and  has  begun  to  decay,  an  infinite  host  of  curious  and 
delicate  plants,  of  the  simplest  vegetable  forms,  are  nur- 
tured upon  the  surface  of  its  trunk.  Mushrooms  of  every 
description  spring  out  from  the  inner  bark,  and  lichens 
and  mosses,  as  various  in  their  hues  as  they  are  delicate 
in  their  forms,  decorate  all  the  outside.  Insects  which, 
under  the  magnifying-glass,  exhibit  the  various  plumes 
and  glittering  ornaments  of  the  most  brilliant  birds  and 
butterflies,  live  under  the  protection  of  these  minute 
plants,  as  the  larger  animals  find  shelter  in  a  forest  of 
trees.  When  the  tree  has  entirely  perished,  and  has 
become  assimilated  with  the  soil,  other  hosts  of  plants 
of  a  higher  order  take  the  place  of  the  former,  until  new 
forests  have  reared  their  branches  over  the  ruins  of  those 
of  a  preceding  age.  Eocks,  continents,  and  worlds  are 
subject  to  the  same  decay  and  the  same  ultimate  reno- 
vation. Thus  the  whole  system  of  the  universe  is  but 
an  infinite  series  of  permutations  and  combinations,  all 


300  EUINS. 

the  atoms,  amidst  apparent  chaos,  moving  in  the  most 
mathematical  order,  and  gradually  resolving  themselves 
into  organized  forms,  infinite  in  their  numbers  and 
arrangements. 

In  this  country  we  have  no  classic  ruins.  The  relics 
of  the  ancient  structures  of  the  aborigines  can  hardly 
awaken  a  romantic  sentiment.  We  cannot  associate 
with  them  any  affecting  historic  reminiscences.  We 
behold  in  them  only  the  evidences  of  savage  customs, 
unformed  art,  and  a  miserable  superstition,  which  afford 
nothing  to  admire.  No  scenes  are  so  well  fitted  as  the 
ruins  of  a  great  and  civilized  nation,  to  inspire  the  mind 
with  that  contemplative  habit  which  is  the  foundation 
of  the  poetical  character.  They  fill  the  soul  with  noble 
conceptions,  and  serve  to  divert  the  thoughts  from  a  con- 
sideration of  present  interest,  and  turn  them  back  upon 
the  ages  of  chivalry  and  romance. 

Nature  has  so  constituted  the  mind  as  to  enable  it  to 
convert  all  her  scenes,  under  certain  circumstances,  into 
sources  of  pleasure.  It  is  not  the  beautiful  alone  that 
afiord  these  agreeable  impressions ;  nor  is  it  the  cheerful 
scenes  only  among  natural  or  artificial  objects  that  inspire 
a  pleasing  sentiment.  While  contemplating  a  scene  of 
ruins,  the  mind  may  have  glimpses  of  truths  which  are 
not  revealed  to  us  in  the  lessons  of  philosophy,  and  which 
excite  indefinite  hopes  amidst  apparent  desolation.  It  is 
our  power  of  deriving  pleasure  from  these  inexplicable 
sources  that  gives  a  pile  of  ruins  half  its  charms.  This 
mingled  sentiment  of  hope  and  melancholy  combines 
with  almost  all  our  ideas  of  beauty.  On  this  account 
a  deserted  house  interests  the  mind  more  than  a  splendid 
villa  in  its  perfect  condition  ;  and  a  plain,  overspread  with 
classic  ruins,  more  than  a  prospect  of  green  meadows  and 
highly  ornamented  gardens.  It  would  be  idle  to  assert 
that  the  human  soul  would  take  satisfaction  in  contem- 


RUINS.  301 

plating  an  object  that  is  suggestive  of  its  own  dissolution. 
This  love  of  ruins  ought  rather  to  be  considered  as  so 
much  evidence  coming  from  them  in  favor  of  the  infinite 
duration  of  the  universe.  They  are  evidence  of  the  great 
age  of  the  earth,  and  proof  of  its  destination  to  exist 
during  countless  ages  of  the  future.  I  wonder  that  our 
theologians  have  never  deduced  from  this  love  of  ruins, 
which  is  so  universal,  an  argument  for  the  immortality  of 
the  soul.  It  is  evident  that  we  do  not  instinctively  regard 
them  as  proofs  of  mortality ;  but  while  we  s*ee  in  them 
the  subjection  of  material  forms  to  those  changes  which 
belong  to  everything  that  is  mortal,  we  look  upon  our 
own  souls  as  lifted  above  any  liability  to  these  changes. 
Did  we  innately  perceive  in  them  proof  that  the  mind 
that  constructed  these  wonderful  works  of  art  perished 
with  them,  we  should  turn  away  from  them  with  a  deep 
despondency,  and  endeavor  to  hide  them  from  our  sight. 
By  a  similar  course  of  reasoning  we  may  account  for 
the  pleasure  which  is  experienced  when  musing  among 
the  tombs. 

The  scenes  in  our  own  land  which  are  most  nearly 
allied  to  ruins  are  the  ancient  rocks  that  gird  our  shores 
and  give  variety  to  our  landscapes.  They  are,  in  fact, 
the  ruins  of  an  ancient  world,  existing  probably  before 
the  human  race  had  made  their  abode  here.  In  these 
rocks  the  frosts  of  thousands  of  winters,  and  the  light- 
nings of  as  many  summers  have  made  numerous  fissures, 
and  split  them  asunder  in  many  places.  We  find  the 
same  species  of  saxatile  and  parasitic  plants  clustering 
about  them  which  are  found  amoiro:  the  ruins  of  art.  The 
forest-trees  have  inserted  their  roots  into  their  crevii 
and  oaks  that  have  stood  for  centuries  nod  their  heads 
over  the  brink  of  these  precipices,  and  cast  a  gloomier 
shade  into  the  valleys  below.  Nothing  can  be  more 
affecting  than  some  of  these  ruins  of  nature,  that  want 


302  RUixs. 


only  the  historical  associations  connected  with  the  ruins 
of  temples  and  palaces,  to  render  them  equally  interest- 


ing 


Man's  natural  love  of  mystery,  and  his  proneness  to 
indulge  in  that  emotion  of  grandeur  and  infinity  that 
flows  from  the  sight  of  anything  involved  in  the  dimness 
of  remote  ages  of  the  past,  are  causes  of  the  intense 
interest  felt  in  the  study  of  geology.  With  a  deep  feeling 
of  awe  we  trace  the  footprints  of  those  unknown  animals 
which  were  the  denizens  of  a  former  world.  The  mind 
"  is  roused  to  profound  contemplation  at  the  sight  of  piles 
of  rocks  as  high  as  the  clouds,  recumbent  on  a  bed  of 
fern,  and  at  finding  the  remains  of  animals  that  once 
sported  on  the  summits  of  other  Alps,  now  buried  beneath 
the  very  base  and  foundation  of  ours." 


CALCULATIONS. 

It  is  remarkable  that  in  this  "  enlightened  age  "  (I  give 
the  quotation-marks,  lest  I  might  be  suspected  of  originat- 
ing the  expression)  there  should  be  a  necessity  of  enter- 
ing upon  a  course  of  argument  to  prove  the  utility  of 
birds  to  agriculture.  It  is  also  surprising  that  the  greatest 
enemies  of  birds  are  among  men  whose  occupation  would 
be  ruined  if  they  were  for  a  single  year  wholly  deprived  of 
their  services.  There  are  many  who  plead  for  the  birds  as 
beautiful  and  interesting  objects,  deserving  protection  for 
their  own  sake.  But,  valuable  as  they  are  for  their  songs, 
their  gay  plumage,  and  their  amusing  habits,  all  these 
qualities  are  of  minor  importance  compared  with  the  ben- 
efits they  confer  upon  man,  as  checks  to  the  overmultipli- 
cation  of  insects.  The  trees  and  the  landscapes  are  made 
greener  and  the  flowers  more  beautiful  in  the  spring, 
the  fruits  of  autumn  finer  and  more  abundant,  and  all 
nature  is  preserved  in  freshness  and  beauty  by  these  hosts 
of  winged  musicians,  who  celebrate  their  garrulous  revel- 
ries in  field  and  wood. 

I  believe  it  admits  of  demonstration,  that  if  birds  were 
exterminated  man  could  not  live  upon  this  earth.  Al- 
most every  one  of  the  smaller  species  is  indispensable  to 
our  agricultural  prosperity.  The  gunner  who  destroys 
ten  small  birds  in  the  spring  preserves  as  many  millions 
of  injurious  insects  to  ravage  our  crops  and  render  barren 
our  orchards.  Naturalists  are  unanimous  in  declaring  the 
importance  of  their  services;  but  cultivators,  who  of  all 
persons  ought  to  be  most  familiar  with  the  facts  that  prove 


304  CALCULATIONS. 

their  usefulness,  are  indeed  the  most  ignorant  of  them. 
They  attribute  to  them  a  full  moiety  of  the  injury  oc- 
casioned by  insects ;  yet  there  is  not  an  insect  in  exist- 
ence which  is  not  the  natural  food  of  certain  birds,  and 
which  would  multiply  to  infinity  if  not  kept  in  check  by 
them. 

Men  are  willing  and  eager  to  keep  dogs  and  cats,  to 
feed  and  protect  them,  and  endure  their  annoyances,  be- 
cause they  understand  that  their  services  in  a  variety  of 
ways,  both  in  the  house  and  out  of  doors,  are  sufficient  to 
compensate  for  all  their  mischief  and  their  trouble.  They 
can  appreciate  their  value,  and  are  willing  to  overlook 
their  offences.  But  the  birds,  who  sing  and  make  them- 
selves agreeable  in  thousands  of  ways,  men  will  destroy, 
because  they  are  either  too  ignorant  or  too  stupid  to 
understand  the  benefits  they  derive  from  them.  Probably 
the  cats  and  dogs  in  this  country  cost  in  the  aggregate 
a  million  of  dollars  in  feeding  them,  to  say  nothing  of 
their  troublesomeness,  to  one  hundred  dollars  which  the 
whole  feathered  tribe  costs  us  by  the  fruit  and^  grain  they 
damage  and  consume. 

Calculations  have  been  frequently  made  to  ascertain 
the  probable  amount  of  insects  consumed  by  any  single 
bird.  Many  of  these  accounts  are  almost  incredible,  yet 
the  most  of  them  will  admit  of  demonstration.  Two  dif- 
ferent methods  have  been  adopted  for  ascertaining  these 
facts.  The  investigators  watch  the  birds,  to  learn  their 
food  by  their  habits  of  feeding  or  foraging ;  or  they  de- 
stroy single  birds  at  different  times  and  seasons  and  exam- 
ine the  contents  of  their  crop.  Mr.  Bradley,  an  Eng- 
lish writer,  mentions  a  person  who  was  led  by  curiosity 
to  watch  a  pair  of  birds  that  were  raising  a  young  brood, 
for  one  hour.  They  went  and  returned  continually,  bring- 
ing every  time  a  caterpillar  to  the  nest.  He  counted  the 
journeys  they  made,  and  calculated  that  one  brood  did  not 


CALCULATIONS.  30 


*"5 


consume  less  than  five  hundred  caterpillars  in  the  course 
of  the  day.  The  quantity  destroyed  in  thirty  days,  at 
this  rate,  by  one  nest  would  amount  to  fifteen  thousand. 
Suppose  every  square  league  of  territory  contained  one 
hundred  nests  of  this  species,  there  would  be  destroyed 
by  them  alone  in  this  space  a  million  and  a  half  of  cater- 
pillars in  the  course  of  one  month. 

I  was  sitting  at  a  window  one  day  in  May,  when  my 
sister  called  my  attention  to  a  Golden  Eobin  in  a  black- 
cherry  tree  employed  in  destroying  the  common  hairy 
caterpillars  that  infest  our  orchards,  and  we  counted  the 
number  he  killed  while  he  remained  on  the  branch.  Dur- 
ing the  space  of  one  minute,  by  a  watch,  he  destroyed 
seventeen  caterpillars.  I  observed  that  he  did  not  swal- 
low the  whole  insect.  After  seizing  it  in  his  bill,  he  set 
his  foot  upon  it,  tore  it  asunder,  and  swallowed  an  atom 
taken  from  the  inside.  Had  he  eaten  the  wdiole  cater- 
pillar, three  or  four  would  probably  have  satisfied  his 
appetite.  But  the  general  practice  of  birds  that  devour 
hairy  caterpillars  is  to  eat  only  a  favorite  morsel.  Hence, 
they  require  a  greater  number  to  satisfy  their  wants. 

This  fact  led  me  to  consider  how  vast  an  amount  of 
benefit  this  single  species  must  contribute  to  vegetation. 
Suppose  each  bird  to  pass  twelve  out  of  the  twenty-four 
hours  in  seeking  his  food,  and  that  one  hour  of  this  time 
is  employed  in  destroying  caterpillars.  At  the  rate  of 
seventeen  per  minute,  each  bird  would  destroy  a  little  more 
than  one  thousand  caterpillars  daily  while  they  were  to 
be  found.  Yet,  if  the  crop  of  the  bird  were  dissected,  it 
would  not  be  possible  to  discover  from  these  titbits  the 
character  of  the  insect  which  he  had  devoured.  So  I 
draw  the  inference  that  while  we  may  discover  many 
important  facts  by  dissection,  all  are  not  revealed  to  us 
by  this  mode  of  examination.  Imagine,  however,  from  the 
facts  which  I  have  recounted,  the  vast  increase  of  cater- 


Q 


06  CALCULATIONS. 


pillars  that  would  follow  the  extinction  of  this  single 
species. 

It  is  recorded  in  "Anderson's  Becreations,"  that  a  curious 
observer,  having  discovered  a  nest  of  five  young  jays,  re- 
marked that  each  of  these  birds,  while  yet  very  young, 
consumed  daily  at  least  fifteen  full-sized  grubs  of  the  May- 
beetle,  and  would  require  many  more  of  a  smaller  size. 
The  writer  conjectures  that  of  large  and  small  each  bird 
would  require  about  twenty  for  its  daily  supply.  At  this 
rate  the  five  birds  would  consume  one  hundred.  Allow- 
ing that  each  of  the  parents  would  require  fifty,  the  fam- 
ily would  consume  two  hundred  every  day,  and  the  whole 
amount  in  three  months  would  be  about  twenty  thousand. 
This  seems  to  me  from  my  own  experience  a  very  mod- 
erate calculation. 

In  obedience  to  an  almost  universal  instinct,  the  gra- 
nivorous  birds,  except  those  that  lead  their  brood  around 
with  them  like  the  hen,  feed  their  young  entirely  upon  the 
larva  of  insects.  The  finches  and  sparrows  are  therefore 
insectivorous,  with  but  a  few  exceptions,  the  first  two  or 
three  months  of  their  existence.  They  do  not  consume 
grain  or  seeds  until  they  are  able  to  provide  for  themselves. 
The  old  birds  supply  their  young  with  larva,  when  this 
kind  of  food  is  abundant,  and  when  the  tender  state  of 
their  digestive  organs  requires  the  use  of  soft  food.  Ac- 
cording to  Mr.  Augustus  Fowler,  who  is  good  authority 
for  any  original  observations,  the  American  Goldfinch 
waits,  before  it  builds  a  nest,  until  it  is  so  late  that  the 
young,  when  they  appear,  may  be  fed  with  the  milky 
grains  and  seeds  of  plants.  It  should  be  added  that 
doves  and  pigeons  soften  the  grain  in  their  own  crop  be- 
fore they  give  it  to  their  young. 

The  quantity  of  insects  consumed  by  the  feathered 
race  is  infinite  or  beyond  all  calculation.  The  facts 
related  of  them  show  that  birds  require  a  larger  quantity 


CALCULATIONS.  307 

of  food  according  to  their  size  than  quadrupeds.  My 
own  experience  corroborates  the  accounts  which  I  have 
selected  from  the  testimony  of  other  observers.  I  took 
from  the  nest  two  young  bluebirds,  which  are  only  half 
the  size  of  a  jay,  and  fed  them  with  my  own  hands  for 
the  space  of  two  weeks.  These  little  birds  would  each 
swallow  twelve  or  more  large  muck-worms  daily,  or  other 
grubs  and  worms  in  the  same  proportion.  Still  they 
always  seemed  eager  for  more,  and  were  not  overfed.  I 
made  a  similar  experiment  with  two  young  catbirds, 
which  were  attended  with  results  still  more  surprising. 
Their  voracity  convinced  me  that  the  usual  calculations 
bearing  upon  this  subject  are  not  exaggerated. 


WHY  BIKDS   SING  IK  THE  NIGHT. 

In  connection  with  this  theme,  we  cannot  escape  a 
feeling  of  regret,  almost  like  sorrow,  when  we  reflect  that 
the  true  nightingale  and  the  skylark  —  the  classical  birds 
of  European  literature  —  are  strangers  to  our  fields  and 
woods.  In  May  and  June  there  is  no  want  of  sylvan 
minstrels  to  wake  the  morn  and  to  sing  the  vespers  of  a 
quiet  evening.  A  flood  of  song  awakens  us  at  the  earliest 
daylight ;  and  the  shy  and  solitary  veery,  after  the  vesper 
bird  has  concluded  his  evening  hymn,  pours  his  few  pen- 
sive notes  into  the  very  bosom  of  twilight,  and  makes  the 
hour  sacred  by  his  melody.  But  after  twilight  is  sped 
and  the  moon  rises  to  shed  her  meek  radiance  over  the 
sleeping  earth,  the  nightingale  is  not  here  to  greet  her 
rising,  and  to  turn  her  melancholy  beams  into  brightness 
and  gladness.  When  the  queen  moon  is  on  her  throne, 
"  clustered  around  by  all  her  starry  Fays,"  the  whippoor- 
will  alone  brings  her  the  tribute  of  his  monotonous  song, 
and  soothes  the  dull  ear  of  night  with  sounds  which,  how- 
ever delightful,  are  not  of  heaven. 

We  have  become  so  familiar  with  the  lark  and  the 
nightingale  by  perusing  the  romance  of  rural  life,  that 
"  neither  breath  of  Morn  when  she  ascends  "  without  this 
the  charm  of  her  earliest  harbinger,  nor  "  silent  Night " 
without  her  "  solemn  bird,"  seems  holy  as  when  we  read 
of  them  in  pastoral  song.  Poetry  has  hallowed  to  our 
minds  the  pleasing  objects  of  the  Old  World.  Those  of 
the  New  must  be  cherished  in  song  many  more  years  be- 
fore they  can  be  equally  sacred  to  the  imagination. 


WHY  BIRDS   SING   IN   THE   NIGHT.  300 

The  came  of  the  nocturnal  singing  of  birds  that  do  not 
go  abroad  during  the  night,  and  are  strictly  diurnal  in  all 
their  other  habits,  has  never  been  rationally  explained. 
It  is  natural  that  the  whippoorwill,  which  is  a  nocturnal 
bird,  should  sing  during  his  hours  of  wakefulness  and 
activity,  and  we  may  explain  why  ducks  and  geese,  and 
other  social  birds,  should  utter  their  alarm-notes  when 
they  meet  with  any  midnight  disturbance.  The  crowing 
of  a  cock  bears  still  more  analogy  to  the  song  of  birds  ; 
for  it  is  certainly  not  a  note  of  alarm.  This  domestic  bird 
might  therefore  be  considered  a  nocturnal  songster,  thou- >h 
we  do  not  hear  him  at  evening  twilight.  The  cock  sinus 
his  matins,  but  not  his  vespers.  He  crows  at  the  earliest 
dawn  and  at  midnight  when  he  is  wakened  by  the  light 
of  the  moon,  and  by  artificial  light.  Many  birds  are  ac- 
customed to  prolong  their  notes  after  sunset  to  a  late  hour, 
and  become  silent  only  to  begin  anew  at  the  earliest  day- 
break. But  the  habit  of  singing  in  the  night  is  peculiar 
to  a  small  number  of  birds,  and  the  cause  of  it  is  a  curious 
subject  of  inquiry. 

By  what  means  are  they  qualified  to  endure  such  ex- 
treme watchfulness,  —  singing  and  providing  for  their  oil- 
spring  during  the  day,  then  becoming  wakeful  and  musical 
during  the  night  ?  Why  do  they  take  pleasure  in  singing 
when  no  one  will  come  in  answer  to  their  call  ?  Have 
they  their  worship  like  religious  beings ;  and  are  their 
midnight  lays  but  the  fervent  outpouring  of  their  devo- 
tions ?  Do  they  rejoice  like  the  clouds  in  the  presence 
of  the  moon,  hailing  her  beams  as  a  pleasant  relief  from 
the  darkness  that  has  surrounded  them  ?  Or,  in  the 
silence  of  the  night,  are  their  songs  but  responses  to  the 
sounds  of  the  trees,  when  thev  bow  their  heads  and  shake 
their  rustling  leaves  to  the  wind  ?  When  they  listen  to 
the  streamlet  that  makes  audible  melody  in  the  hush  of 
night,  do  they  not  answer  to  it  from  their  leafy  perch  \ 


310  WHY  BIRDS  SING  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

And  when  the  moth  flies  hummingly  through  the  recesses 
of  the  wood,  and  the  beetle  winds  his  horn,  what  are  the 
notes  of  the  birds  but  cheerful  counterparts  to  those  sounds 
that  break  sweetly  upon  the  quiet  of  their  slumbers  ? 

Wilson  remarks  that  the  hunters  in  the  Southern  States, 
when  setting  out  on  an  excursion  by  night,  as  soon  as 
they  hear  the  mocking-bird,  know  that  the  moon  is  rising. 
He  quotes  a  writer  who  supposes  that  it  may  be  fear  that 
operates  upon  the  birds  when  they  perceive  the  owls 
flitting  among  the  trees,  and  that  they  sing  as  a  timid 
person  whistles  in  a  lonely  place  to  quiet  their  fears. 
But  if  such  be  the  case,  Nature  has  implanted  in  them  an 
instinct  that  might  lead  to  their  destruction.  Fear  would 
instinctively  prompt  them  to  be  quiet,  if  they  heard  the 
stirring  of  owls ;  for  this  feeling  is  not  expressed  by 
musical  notes,  but  by  notes  of  alarm,  or  by  silence.  The 
moonlight  may  be  the  most  frequent  exciting  cause  of 
nocturnal  singing ;  but  it  is  not  true  that  birds  always 
wait  for  the  rising  of  the  moon ;  and  if  it  were  so,  the 
question  still  occurs,  why  a  few  species  only  should  be 
thus  affected. 

Since  philosophy  cannot  explain  this  instinct,  let  fancy 
come  to  our  aid,  as  when  men  vainly  seek  from  reason 
an  explanation  of  the  mysteries  of  religion  they  humbly 
submit  to  the  guidance  of  faith.  With  fancy  for  our  in- 
terpreter we  may  suppose  that  Nature  has  adapted  the 
works  of  creation  to  our  moral  as  well  as  our  physical 
wants  ;  and  while  she  has  instituted  the  night  as  a  time 
of  general  rest,  she  has  provided  means  that  shall  soften 
the  gloomy  effects  of  darkness.  The  birds,  which  are  the 
harbingers  of  all  rural  delights,  are  hence  made  to  sing 
during  twilight ;  and  when  they  cease,  the  nocturnal 
songsters  become  vocal,  bearing  pleasant  sensations  to 
the  sleepless,  and  by  their  lulling  melodies  prepare  us 
to  be  keenly  susceptible  to  all  agreeable  emotions. 


CLOUDS. 

The  sky  would  present  very  little  in  the  daytime  to 
charm  the  sight  or  interest  the  mind  if  it  were  destitute 
of  clouds.  From  these  proceed  all  the  beautiful  tints  of 
sunrise  and  sunset,  the  rainbow,  and  the  various  configu- 
rations that  deck  the  arches  of  the  firmament.  The  differ- 
ent forms  and  colors  they  assume  in  their  progress  through 
the  atmosphere,  and  their  ever-varying  positions  and  com- 
binations, are  capable  of  awaking  the  most  agreeable 
emotions  of  beauty  and  sublimity.  It  is  not  often  that 
the  same  object  causes  these  two  different  emotions.  But 
when  the  western  clouds,  piled  in  glittering  arches  one 
above  another,  and  widening  as  they  recede  from  the 
great  source  of  light,  display  their  several  gradations  of 
hues,  from  the  outermost  arch  successively  of  violet, 
purple,  crimson,  vermilion,  and  orange,  until  our  eyes 
are  dazzled  by  the  radiance  that  beams  from  the  throne 
of  day,  the  mind  is  affected  with  a  sensation  of  beauty, 
accompanied  by  the  most  cheerful  exaltation. 

The  great  painters  have  delighted  in  the  representation 
of  clouds,  knowing  that  every  landscape  may  be  improved 
by  their  celestial  forms  and  tints,  and  that  a  scene  repre- 
senting any  passion  or  situation  may  be  heightened  by 
such  accompaniments,  harmonizing  with  the  cheerfulness 
or  sadness,  with  the  lowliness  or  magnificence  of  the 
subject.  Poets  have  ever  been  mindful  of  the  same  ef- 
fects ;  and  the  Hebrew  prophets  have  exalted  the  sublimity 
of  their  descriptions  and  increased  the  efficacy  of  their 
prophecies  and  their  admonitions  by  employing  imagery 


312  CLOUDS. 

derived  from  these  appearances,  adapted  to  illustrate 
their  sacred  themes.  Hence  Jehovah,  who  set  his  bow 
in  a  cloud  as  the  token  of  a  covenant  between  heaven  and 
earth,  is  represented  as  making  clouds  his  chariot  and 
pavilion  when  ascending  into  heaven,  or  when  descending 
on  earth  to  speak  to  the  messengers  of  his  will. 

Every  scene  in  the  universe  is  the  cause,  when  we  be- 
hold it,  of  a  peculiar  and  specific  sensation.     Our  emotions 
are  as  infinite  as  our  thoughts,  and  Nature  has  provided 
an  infinite  variety  of  scenes  to  harmonize  with  all,  that 
no  existing  susceptibility  to  pleasure  shall  be  lost  for  the 
want  of  something  external  to  act  upon  it,  and  render  it 
a  source  of  happiness.     There  are  beams  in  the  counte- 
nance of  morn  and  even  that  irradiate  into  our  souls  a 
feelin°'  of  serene  delight ;  and  it  is  no  marvel  that  Nature 
should  seem,  as  -the  poets  have  described  her,  to  smile 
upon  us  in  the   sunshine  that  sparkles  in  the  morning 
dews  and  gilds  the  evening  sky,  or  in  the  moonlight  that 
reveals  to  us  a  new  firmament  of  wonders  among  the 
silvery  clouds  of  night.     The  forms  and  tints  of  clouds 
produce  effects  upon  the  mind  that  vary  with  the  hour 
of  the  dav.     In  the  morning  there  is  a  feeling  of  hope- 
fulness  attending  the  spectacle  of  the  constantly  increasing 
splendor  of  the  clouds,  beginning  with  the  dark  purple 
tints  of    dawn,  and  widening   with   beautiful   radiating 
undulations  through  their  whole  succession  of  hues  into 
perfect  day.     As  we  are  prepared  by  the  buoyant  feelings 
that  come  from  the  spectacle  of  dawn  to  enter  with  a  glad 
heart  upon  the  duties  of  the  day,  we  are  equally  inspired 
by  the  spectacle  of  sunset  with  a  sentiment  of  tranquillity 
that  prepares  us  for  healthful  repose. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  understand  that  if  the  sun  rose 
clearly  into  the  blue  heavens  without  any  changes  except 
from  darkness  to  light,  through  all  the  degrees  of  twilight, 
the  charms  of  the  morning  would  be  greatly  diminished. 


CLOUDS.  313 

But  Nature,  that  all  hearts  might  be  enamored  of  the 
morn,  has  wreathed  her  temples  with  dappled  crimson,  and 
animated  her  countenance  with  those  milder  glories  that 
so  well  become  the  fair  daughter  of  the  dawn  and  the 
gentle  mother  of  dews.  In  ancient  fable,  Aurora  is  a 
beautiful  nymph  who  blushes  when  she  first  enters  into 
the  presence  of  Day,  and  the  clouds  are  the  fabric  with 
which  she  veils  her  features  at  his  approach.  But  a 
young  person  of  sensibility  needs  no  such  allegory  to  in- 
spire him  with  a  sense  of  the  incomparable  beauty  and 
grandeur  of  the  orient  at  break  of  day.  It  is  associated 
with  some  of  the  happiest  moments  of  his  life ;  and  the 
exhilarated  feelings  with  which  we  look  upon  the  day- 
spring  in  the  east  are  probably  one  cause  of  the  tonic  and 
healthful  influence  of  early  rising. 

The  forms  of  clouds  are  not  less  beautiful  or  expressive 
than  their  colors.  While  their  outlines  are  sufficiently 
definite  for  picturesque  effects,  they  often  assume  a  great 
uniformity  in  their  aggregations.  The  frostwork  on  our 
window-panes  on  cold  winter  mornings  exhibits  no  greater 
variety  of  figures  than  that  assumed  by  the  clouds  in 
their  distribution  over  the  heavens.  Beinnnin^  in  the 
form  of  vapor  that  rolls  its  fleecy  masses  slowly  over  the 
plain,  resembling  at  a  distance  sometimes  a  smooth  sheet 
of  water,  and  at  other  times  a  drifted  snow-bank,  the 
cloud  divides  itself  as  it  ascends,  into  globular  heaps  that 
reflect  the  sunlight  from  a  thousand  silvery  domes.  These, 
after  gradually  dissolving,  reappear  in  a  host  of  finely 
mottled  images,  resembling  the  scales  of  a  fish,  then 
marshal  themselves  into  undulating  rows  like  the  wavi 
of  the  sea,  and  are  lastly  metamorphosed  into  a  thin  gauzy 
fabric,  like  crumpled  muslin,  or  in  a  long  drapery  of 
hair-like  fringe,  overspreading  the  higher  regions  of  the 
atmosphere. 

These  different  forms  of  cloud  are  elevated  according  to 

14 


314  CLOUDS. 

the  fineness  of  their  texture  and  organization,  the  finer 
and  more  complicated  fabrics  occupying  the  space  above 
the  next  in  degree.  We  often  observe  three  layers  of 
cloud  separated  by  sufficient  space  to  receive  all  the  dif- 
ferent hues  of  sunset  at  the  same  moment.  While  the 
feather  clouds  that  occupy  the  greatest  elevation  are  burn- 
ished with  a  dazzling  radiance,  the  middle  layers  of  dappled 
cloud  will  be  tipped  with  crimson,  while  the  violet  and  in- 
digo hues  are  seen  in  the  dense  unorganized  mass  that  is 
spread  out  below.  It  may  be  remarked,  both  of  the  forms 
and  the  hues  of  clouds,  that  nature  permits  no  harsh  con- 
trasts or  sudden  transitions.  The  different  hues  are  laid 
softly  one  above  another,  melting  into  each  other  like 
those  in  the  plumage  of  a  dove.  You  can  never  see  where 
one  hue  terminates  and  another  commences.  It  is  the 
same  in  a  less  degree  with  their  forms,  that  never  for  two 
minutes  in  succession  remain  unaltered.  They  exhibit  a 
pleasing  irregularity,  and  are  almost  destitute  of  outlines, 
so  that  the  imagination  is  left  to  carve  out  of  their  ob- 
scure figures  and  arrangements  aerial  landscapes,  bright 
sunny  valleys,  and  rolling  plains,  with  villages  surrounded 
by  turrets  and  the  pinnacles  of  mountains. 

The  imagination  is  always  stimulated  by  a  certain  de- 
gree of  obscurity  in  the  objects  of  sight  and  sound  as  well 
as  of  thought.  The  sublime  passages  of  the  poets  are 
often  obscure,  suggestive  of  something  that  produces  a 
well-defined  emotion,  but  no  distinct  image  to  the  under- 
standing. It  is  this  quality  that  gives  their  power  to 
certain  remarkable  passages  in  the  Hebrew  prophets.  In 
a  terrestrial  landscape,  when  viewed  by  daylight,  the  out- 
lines of  objects,  except  at  a  distance,  are  so  distinct  that 
we  can  see  and  easily  describe  their  forms  and  character. 
Distant  objects  have  a  dimness  of  outline  and  a  misty 
obscurity  which  are  favorable  to  an  expression  of  sub- 
limity.   In  the  darkness  of  night  the  forms  of  trees  display 


CLOUDS.  315 

the  indefinite  shapes  of  clouds,  and  the  imagination  is 
free  to  indulge  its  caprices,  while,  as  we  pass  by  them  in 
a  journey  or  a  ramble,  our  eyes  are  watching  their  ap- 
parent motions  and  changes  of  forni. 

By  no  other  scenes  in  nature  is  the  imagination  so 
powerfully  excited  as  by  these  celestial  phenomena, 
whether  we  imagine  the  gates  of  heaven  to  be  opened 
beneath  the  triumphal  arches  of  sunset,  or  watch  for  the 
passing  of  the  gloomy  precursors  of  evil  days  in  the  dark 
irregular  masses  that  deform  the  skies  before  a  storm. 
The  picturesque  effects  of  clouds  are  in  great  measure 
attributable  to  the  dubious  character  of  their  confi^u- 
rations,  giving  rise  to  peculiar  fancies  and  awaking  sen- 
timents that  spring  only  from  the  loftiest  images  of 
poetry.  The  shadows  of  passing  clouds,  as  they  fall  upon 
the  earth  after  moving  rapidly  with  the  wind,  add  greatly 
to  their  expression.  Above  all,  do  their  motions  contrib- 
ute to  the  beauty  of  landscape,  when,  through  some  open- 
ing in  their  dense  masses,  while  the  greater  part  of  the 
prospect  is  enveloped  in  shade,  the  sun  pours  a  stream  of 
glory  upon  a  distant  grove,  village,  or  range  of  hills. 

As  the  most  delightful  views  of  ocean  are  attained  when 
a  small  part  of  it  is  seen  through  a  green  recess  in  a  wood, 
for  the  same  cause  the  blue  sky  is  never  so  beautiful  as 
when  seen  through  the  openings  in  the  clouds.  The  emo- 
tion produced  by  any  scene  is  the  more  intense  when  the 
greater  part  of  the  object  that  causes  it  is  hidden,  leaving 
room  for  the  entrance  of  pleasant  images  into  the  mind. 
Clouds  are  peculiarly  suggestive  on  account  of  the  am- 
biguity of  their  shapes  and  their  constant  chang 
Nothing,  indeed,  in  nature  so  closely  resembles  the 
mysterious  operations  of  thought,  ever  ceaseless  in  their 
motions  and  ever  varying  in  their  combinations,  —  now- 
passing  from  a  shapeless  heap  into  a  finely  marshalled 
band;  then  dissolving  into  the  pellucid  atmosphere  as  a 


o 


16  CLOUDS. 


series  of  thoughts  will  pass  away  from  our  memory ;  then 
slowly  forming  themselves  again  and  recombining  in  a 
still  more  beautiful  and  dazzling  congeries  in  another 
part  of  the  sky ;  now  gloomy,  changeable,  and  formless, 
then  assuming  a  definite  shape  and  glowing  with  the  most 
lovely  beams  of  light  and  beauty ;  lastly  fading  into  dark- 
ness when  the  sun  departs,  as  the  mind  for  a  short  period 
is  obliterated  in  sleep. 

It  is  remarkable  that  in  the  evening,  after  the  hues  of 
sunset  have  faded  to  a  certain  point,  the  clouds  are  some- 
times reilluminated  before  darkness  comes  on.  Before 
the  sun  declines,  the  clouds  are  grayish  tipped  with  silver. 
As  he  recedes,  the  gray  portion  becomes  brown  or  auburn, 
and  the  silvery  edges  of  a  yellow  or  golden  hue.  While 
the  auburn  is  resolved  into  purple,  the  yellows  deepen 
into  vermilion  and  orange.  Every  tint  is  constantly 
changing  into  a  deeper  one,  until  the  sky  is  decorated 
with  every  imaginable  tint  except  green  and  blue.  When 
these  colors  have  attained  their  greatest  splendor,  they 
gradually  fade  until  the  mass  of  each  cloud  has  turned  to 
a  dull  iron-gray,  and  every  beautiful  tint  has  vanished. 
We  might  then  suppose  that  all  this  scene  of  glory  had 
faded.  After  a  few  minutes,  however,  the  clouds  begin 
once  more  to  brighten  ;  the  whole  scene  is  gradually  re- 
illuminated,  and  passes  through  another  equally  regular 
gradation  of  more  sombre  tints,  consisting  of  olive,  lilac, 
and  bronze,  and  their  intermediate  shades.  The  second 
illumination  is  neither  so  brio-ht  nor  so  beautiful  as  the 

o 

first.  But  I  have  known  the  light  that  was  shed  upon 
the  earth  to  be  sensibly  increased  for  a  few  moments  by 
this  second  gradation  of  hues,  without  any  diminution  of 
the  mass  of  cloud. 

Men  of  the  world  may  praise  the  effects  of  certain 
medical  excitants  that  serve,  by  benumbing  the  outward 
senses,  to  exalt  the  soul  into  reveries  of  bliss  and  untried 


clouds.  317 

exercises  of  thought.  But  the  only  divine  exhilaration 
proceeds  from  contemplating  the  beautiful  and  sublime 
scenes  of  nature  as  beheld  on  the  face  of  the  earth  and 
the  sky.  It  is  under  this  vast  canopy  of  celestial  splen- 
dors, more  than  in  any  other  situation,  that  the  faculties 
may  become  inspired  without  madness  and  exalted  with- 
out subsequent  depression.  I  never  believe  so  much  in 
the  divinity  of  nature  as  when,  at  sunset,  I  look  through 
a  long  vista  of  luminous  clouds  far  down  into  that  mystic 
region  of  light  in  which  we  are  fain  to  imagine  are  de- 
posited the  secrets  of  the  universe.  The  blue  heavens  are 
the  page  whereon  nature  has  revealed  some  pleasant  in- 
timations of  the  mysteries  of  a  more  spiritual  existence ; 
and  no  charming  vision  of  heaven  and  immortality  ever 
entered  the  human  soul  but  the  Deity  responded  to  it 
upon  the  firmament  in  letters  of  gold,  ruby,  and  sapphire. 


SOUNDS  FKOM  ANIMATE  NATURE. 

A  treatise  on  the  beauties  of  nature  would  be  very 
imperfectly  accomplished  if  nothing  were  written  of 
sounds.  The  hearing  is  indeed  the  most  intellectual  of 
our  senses,  though  from  the  sight  we  undoubtedly  de- 
rive the  most  pleasure.  Hearing  is  also  more  intimately 
connected  with  the  imagination  than  any  other  sense; 
and  a  few  words  of  speech  or  a  few  notes  of  music  may 
produce  the  most  vivid  emotion  or  awaken  the  most 
ardent  passion.  At  all  seasons  and  in  all  places  the 
sounds  no  less  than  the  visible  things  of  nature  affect  us 
with  pleasure  or  with  pain.  Everywhere  does  the  song 
of  a  bird  or  the  note  of  an  insect,  the  cry  of  an  animal 
or  other  sound  from  the  animate  world,  come  to  the  ear 
with  messages  of  the  past,  conveying  to  the  mind  some 
joyful  or  plaintive  remembrance. 

Sounds  are  the  medium  through  which  many  ideas  as 
well  as  sensations  are  communicated  to  us  by  nature ; 
and  we  cannot  say  how  large  a  proportion  of  those  which 
seem  to  rise  spontaneously  in  the  mind  are  suggested  by 
some  animal,  through  its  cries  of  joy  or  complaint.  There 
is  hardly  a  rational  being  who  is  not  alive  to  these  sugges- 
tions, varying  with  his  habits  of  life,  especially  those  of 
his  early  years.  Some  persons  do  not  purposely  listen  to 
the  voices  of  insects,  and  seem  almost  unaware  of  the 
existence  of  these  sounds.  Yet  even  these  apathetic  per- 
sons are  unconsciously  affected  by  them.  We  attend  so 
little  to  the  subjects  of  our  consciousness  that  we  can 
seldom  trace  to  their  source  any  of  our  most  ordinary 


SOUNDS   FROM   ANIMATE  NATURE.  310 

emotions.  We  see  without  conscious  observation  and 
hear  without  conscious  attention,  so  that  when  we  are 
suddenly  deprived  of  these  sights  and  sounds  we  feel  that 
there  is  a  blank  in  our  enjoyments,  which  can  be  filled 
only  by  those  charming  objects  that  never  before  received 
our  thought  or  attention.  How  many  bright  things  have 
faded  on  our  mind,  and  how  many  sweet  sounds  have 
died  on  the  ear  before  we  were  hardly  aware  of  their 
existence ! 

If  we  hearken  attentively  to  the  miscellaneous  sounds 
that  come  to  our  ears  from  the  outer  world,  we  shall 
perceive  that  some  of  them  are  cheerful  and  exhilarat- 
ing, others  are  melancholy  and  depressing.  Of  the  first 
are  chiefly  the  songs  of  birds,  the  noise  of  poultry,  the 
chirping  of  insects ;  indeed,  the  greater  part  of  the  sounds 
of  animate  nature.  The  second  class  comes  chiefly  from 
inanimate  things,  as  the  whistling  of  winds,  the  murmur 
of  gentle  gales,  the  roar  of  storms,  the  rush  of  falling 
water,  and  the  ebbing  and  flowing  of  tides.  All  these 
are  of  a  plaintive  character,  sometimes  gloomy  and  sad, 
at  other  times  merely  soothing  and  tranquillizing.  They 
all  produce  more  or  less  of  what  physicians  call  a  seda- 
tive effect.  These  two  classes  of  sounds  are  often  insep- 
arably blended,  inasmuch  as  some  of  the  voices  of  birds, 
insects,  and  other  creatures  are  melancholy,  and  some  of 
the  sounds  of  winds  and  waters  are  cheerful. 

I  shall  treat  of  these  different  sounds  chiefly  as  they 
affect  the  mind  and  sensibility ;  of  the  poetry  rather  than 
the  science  of  these  phenomena.  My  object  is  to  point  out 
one  remarkable  source  of  our  agreeable  sensations  as  de- 
rived from  nature,  and  to  show  in  what  manner  we  may 
cause  them  to  contribute  to  our  pleasure.  I  am  persuaded 
that  one  important  means  of  deriving  pleasure  from  any 
object  is  to  direct  our  attention  to  it;  and  if  this  be  not 
an  indulgence  that  is  liable  to  increase  to  a  vicious  extent. 


320  SOUNDS   FROM   ANIMATE   NATURE. 

our  happiness  will  be  improved  by  our  devotion  to  it.  By 
studying  the  various  sounds  of  nature  and  by  habitually 
giving  our  attention  to  them,  we  become  more  and  more 
sensitive  to  their  influence  and  capable  of  hearing  music 
to  which  others  are  deaf. 

Cheerful  sounds  come  chiefly  from  animated  things; 
and  from  this  we  may  infer  that  the  mass  of  living  crea- 
tures, in  spite  of  the  evils  to  which  they  are  exposed  and 
the  pains  they  suffer,  are  happy.  The  chirping  of  insects 
denotes  their  happiness.  No  man  goes  out  in  the  autumn 
and  listens  to  the  din  of  crickets  and  grasshoppers  among 
the  green  herbs,  and  regards  it  as  a  melancholy  sound.  To 
all  ears  these  notes  express  the  joy  of  the  creatures  that 
utter  them.  Those  doleful  moralists  who  look  upon  every- 
thing as  born  to  woe  are  greatly  deluded ;  else  why  do  not 
the  voices  of  the  sufferers  give  utterance  to  their  pangs  ? 
Why,  instead  of  uttering  what  seem  like  songs  of  praise, 
do  they  not  cry  out  in  doleful  strains  that  would  excite 
our  pity  ?  The  greater  part  of  the  life  of  every  creature 
is  filled  with  agreeable  sensations. 

The  fly,  the  gnat,  the  beetle,  and  the  moth,  though  each  . 
makes  a  hum  that  awakens  many  pleasing  thoughts  and 
images,  are  not  to  be  ranked  among  singing  insects. 
Among  the  latter  are  crickets  and  locusts  and  grasshop- 
pers, which  are  appointed  by  nature  to  take  up  their  little 
lyre  and  drum  after  the  birds  have  laid  aside  their  more  me- 
lodious pipe  and  flute.  Their  musical  apparatus  is  placed 
outside  of  their  bodies,  and  as  they  have  no  lungs,  the  air 
is  obtained  by  a  peculiar  inflation  of  their  chests.  Hence 
the  musical  appendages  of  insects  are  constructed  like 
reed  instruments  or  jews'-harps.  The  grasshoppers  in  all 
ages  have  been  noted  as  musical  performers,  and  in  certain 
ancient  vignettes  are  frequently  represented  as  playing  on 

the  harp. 

Each  species  of  insect  has  a  peculiar  modulation  of  his 


SOUNDS   FROM  ANIMATE  NATURE.  321 

notes.  The  common  green  grasshopper,  that  during  the 
months  of  August  and  September  fills  the  whole  atmos- 
phere with  its  din,  abides  chiefly  in  the  lowland  meadows 
which  are  covered  with  the  native  grasses.  This  grass- 
hopper modulates  its  notes  like  the  cackling  of  a  lien, 
uttering  several  chirps  in  rapid  succession  and  following 
them  with  a  loud  spinning  sound  that  seems  to  be  the 
conclusion  of  the  strain.  These  notes  are  continued  in- 
cessantly, from  the  time  when  the  sun  is  high  enough  tu 
have  dried  the  dews  until  dewfall  in  the  evening.  The 
performers  are  delighted  with  the  sunshine,  and  sing  but 
little  on  cloudy  days,  even  when  the  air  is  dry  and  warm. 

SONG   OF   THE   DIURNAL   GREEN   GRASSHOPPER. 


^—+- 


There  is  another  grasshopper  with  short  wings  that 
makes  a  kind  of  grating  sound  difficult  to  be  heard,  by 
scraping  its  legs,  that  serve  for  bows,  upon  its  sides,  that 
represent  as  it  were  the  strings  of  a  viol.  If  we  go  into 
the  whortleberry  pastures  wre  hear  still  another  species, 
that  makes  a  continued  trilling  like  the  note  of  a  hair- 
bird.  In  some  places  this  species  sings  very  loudly,  and 
continues  half  a  minute  or  more  without  rest.  Its  notes 
are  not  so  agreeable  as  those  which  are  more  rapidly 
intermittent. 

There  is  a  species  of  locust,  seldom  heard  until  mid- 
summer, and  then  only  in  very  warm  weather.  His  note 
is  a  pleasant  reminder  of  sultry  summer  noondays,  of 
languishing  heat  and  refreshing  shade.  The  insect  begins 
h>w,  usually  high  up  in  the  trees,  and  increases  in  loud- 
ness until  it  is  almost  deafening,  and  then  gradually  dies 
away  into  silence.  The  most  skilful  musician  could  not 
surpass  his  crescendo  and  diminuendo.  It  has  a  peculiar 
vibrating  sound  that  seems  to  me  highly  musical  and  ex- 

14*  u 


322  SOUNDS   FROM   ANIMATE  NATURE. 

pressive.  The  insect  that  produces  this  note  is  a  gro- 
tesque-looking creature,  resembling  about  equally  a  grass- 
hopper and  a  bumblebee. 

The  black  crickets  and  their  familiar  chirping  are  well 
known  to  everybody.  An  insect  of  this  family  is  cele- 
brated in  English  poetry  as  the  "  cricket  on  the  hearth." 
Those  of  the  American  species  are  seldom  found  in  our 
dwelling-houses ;  but  they  are  all  around  our  door-steps 
and  by  the  wayside,  under  every  dry  fence  and  in  every 
sandy  hill.  They  chirp  all  day  and  some  part  of  the 
night,  and  more  or  less  in  all  kinds  of  weather.  They 
begin  their  songs  before  the  grasshoppers  are  heard,  and 
continue  them  to  a  later  period  in  the  autumn,  not  ceasing 
until  the  hard  frosts  have  driven  them  into  their  retreats 
and  lulled  them  into  a  torpid  sleep. 

The  note  of  the  katydid,  which  is  a  mere  drumming 
sound,  is  not  musical.  In  American  literature  no  insect 
has  become  so  widely  celebrated,  on  account  of  a  fancied 
resemblance  to  the  word  "  katydid."  To  my  ear  a  chorus 
of  these  minute  drummers,  all  uttering  in  concert  their 
peculiar  notes,  seems  more  like  the  hammering  of  a 
thousand  little  smiths  in  some  busy  hamlet  of  insects. 
There  is  no  melody  in  these  sounds,  and  they  are  accord- 
ingly less  suggestive  than  those  of  the  green  nocturnal 
grasshopper,  that  is  heard  at  the  same  hour  in  similar 
situations. 

The  nocturnal  grasshoppers,  called  August  pipers,  or 
Cicadas,  begin  their  chirping  about  the  middle  of  July, 
but  are  not  in  full  son^  until  August.      These  are  the 

o  o 

true  nightingales  of  insects,  and  the  species  that  seems 
to  me  the  most  worthy  of  being  consecrated  to  poetry. 
There  is  a  singular  plaintiveness  in  their  low  monotonous 
notes,  which  are  the  charm  of  our  late  summer  evenings. 
There  are  but  few  persons  who  are  not  affected  by  these 
sounds  with  a  sensation  of  subdued  but  cheerful  melan- 


SOUNDS   FROM   ANIMATE   NATURE.  323 

choly.     This  effect  does  not  seem  to  be  caused  by  asso- 
ciation so  much  as  by  their  peculiar  cadence. 

The  notes  of  these  nocturnal  pipers  on  very  warm 
evenings  are  in  unison  and  accurately  timed,  as  if  they 
were  singing  in  concert.  It  is  worthy  of  notice  that  they 
always  vary  their  keynote  according  to  the  temperature 
of  the  atmosphere.  They  are  evidently  dependent  on  a 
summer  heat  for  their  vivacity,  and  become  sluggish  and 
torpid  as  the  thermometer  sinks  below  a  certain  point. 
When  the  temperature  is  high  they  keep  good  time,  sing- 
ing shrilly  and  rapidly.  As  it  sinks  they  take  a  lower 
key  and  do  not  keep  time  together.  When  the  thermom- 
eter is  not  above  sixty,  their  notes  are  very  low,  and 
there  are  but  few  performers. 


Height  of  Thermometer. 

Keynote  of  the  Insects. 

80° 

~F  natural,  perfect  time  and  tune. 

75° 

Eflat, 

70° 

D,                   "          "               " 

65° 

C,  imperfect  time  and  tune. 

60° 

Bflat,     " 

55° 

A,  keynote  hardly  to  be  detected,  many 

out  of  time  and  tune. 

50° 

G,  a  few  individuals  only,  singing  slowly 

and  feebly. 

OCTOBEE. 

The  cool  and  temperate  breezes  that  prevail  at  this 
time  almost  constantly  from  the  west,  attended  with  a 
clear  sky,  announce  the  brilliant  month  of  October  with 
a  climate  that  alternately  chills  the  frame  with  frosty 
vapors  by  night  and  enlivens  the  heart  with  beauty  and 
sunshine  by  day.  At  sunrise  the  villagers  are  gath- 
ered round  their  fires  shivering  with  cold ;  the  chirping 
insects  also  have  crept  into  their  shelters  and  are  silent. 
But  ere  the  sun  has  gained  half  his  meridian  height  the 
villagers  have  forsaken  their  fires,  and  are  busy  in  the 
orchards  beneath  the  glowing  sunshine  ;  and  the  insects, 
aroused  from  their  torpor  and  warmed  into  new  life,  are 
again  chirping  as  merrily  as  in  August,  and  multitudes 
that  could  hardly  creep  with  torpor  in  the  morning  are 
now  darting  and  spinning  in  the  grassy  meadows. 

There  are  occasional  dull  and  cloudy  days  in  October, 
the  dreary  precursors  of  approaching  winter  ;  but  they 
are  generally  bright  and  clear,  and  unequalled  by  those 
of  any  other  month  in  salubrity.  There  are  no  sleep- 
ing mists  drawn  over  the  skies  to  obscure  the  trans- 
parency of  the  atmosphere ;  but  far  as  the  eye  can 
reach,  the  distant  hills  lift  up  their  heads  with  a  clear, 
unclouded  outline,  and  the  blue  arch  of  heaven  preserves 
its  deep  azure  down  almost  to  the  horizon.  In  the  morn- 
ings of  such  days  a  white  fleecy  cloud  is  settled  upon  the 
streams  and  lowlands,  in  which  the  early  sunbeams  are 
refracted  with  all  the  myriad  hues  of  dawn,  forming  halos 
and  imperfect  rainbows  that  seem  to  be  pictured  on  a 


OCTOBER.  325 

groundwork  of  drifted  snow.  By  this  vapor,  nearly  mo- 
tionless at  sunrise,  we  may  trace  the  winding  course  of 
the  small  rivers  far  along  through  the  distant  prospect. 
But  the  sun  quickly  dissipates  this  fleecy  cloud.  As  the 
winds  float  it  slowly  and  gracefully  over  the  plains,  it 
melts  into  transparency  ;  and  ere  the  sun  has  gained  ten 
degrees  in  his  orbit,  the  last  feathery  fragment  has  van- 
ished and  left  him  in  the  clear  blue  firmament  without 
one  shadow  to  tarnish  his  glory. 

October  is  the  most  brilliant  of  the  months,  unsurpassed 
in  the  clearness  of  its  skies  and  in  the  wonderful  variety 
of  tints  that  are  sprinkled  over  all  vegetation.  He  who 
has  an  eye  for  beautiful  colors  must  ever  admire  the  scen- 
ery of  this  last  month  of  foliage  and  flowers.  As  Nature 
loses  the  delicacy  of  her  charms,  she  is  more  lavish  of  the 
gaudy  decorations  with  which  she  embroiders  her  apparel. 
While  she  appears  before  us  in  her  living  attire,  from 
spring  to  autumn  she  is  constantly  changing  her  vesture 
with  each  passing  month.  The  flowers  that  spangle  the 
green  turf  or  wreathe  themselves  upon  the  trees  and 
vines,  and  the  herbage  with  all  its  various  shades  of  ver- 
dure,  constitute,  with  their  successive  changes,  her  spring 
and  summer  adornment ;  but  ere  the  fall  of  the  leaf  she 
makes  herself  garlands  of  the  ripened  foliage,  and  crowns 
the  brows  of  her  mountains  and  the  bosoms  of  her  groves 
with  the  most  beautiful  array. 

Though  the  present  is  a  melancholy  time  of  the  year, 
we  are  preserved  from  cheerless  reflections  by  the  bright- 
ness of  the  sunshine  and  the  interminable  beauty  of  the 
landscape.  The  sky  in  clear  weather  is  of  the  deepest 
blue  ;  and  the  ocean  and  the  lakes,  slightly  ruffled  by  the 
October  winds,  which  are  seldom  tranquil,  have  a  pecu- 
liar depth  of  coloring,  unwitnessed  when  their  surface  is 
calm.  Diverted  by  the  unusual  charms  of  Nature,  while 
we  look  with  a  mournful  heart  upon  the  graves  of  the 


o 


26  OCTOBER. 


flowers,  we  turn  our  eyes  upward  and  around  us,  where 
the  woods  are  glowing  like  a  wilderness  of  roses,  and 
forget  in  our  ravishment  the  beautiful  things  we  have 
lost.  As  the  flowers  wither  and  vanish  from  our  sight, 
their  colors  seem  to  revive  in  the  foliage  of  the  trees,  as 
if  each  dying  blossom  had  bequeathed  its  beauty  to  the 
forest  boughs,  that  had  protected  it  during  the  year.  The 
trees  are  one  by  one  putting  aside  their  vestures  of  green 
and  slowly  assuming  their  new  robes  of  many  hues. 
From  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  month  the  land- 
scape suffers  a  complete  metamorphosis ;  and  October 
may  be  said  to  represent  in  the  successive  changes  of  its 
aspect  all  the  floral  beauty  of  spring  and  summer. 

Unaffected  by  the  late  frosts,  the  grass  is  still  green 
from  the  valleys  to  the  hill-tops,  and  many  a  flower  is 
still  smiling  upon  us  as  if  there  were  no  winter  in  the 
year.  Many  fair  ones  still  linger  in  their  cheerful  but 
faded  bowers,  the  emblems  of  contentment,  seeming  per- 
fectly happy  if  they  can  but  greet  a  few  beams  of  sun- 
shine to  temper  the  frosty  gales.  In  wet  places  I  still 
behold  the  lovely  neottia  with  its  small  white  plumes 
arranged  in  a  spiral  line  about  their  stems,  and  giving 
out  the  delicate  incense  of  a  lily.  The  purple  gerarclia, 
too,  has  not  yet  forsaken  us,  and  the  gentians  will  wait 
till  another  month  before  they  wholly  leave  our  borders. 

If  we  quit  the  fields  we  find  in  the  gardens  a  profu- 
sion of  lovely  exotics.  Dahlias  and  fuchsias,  and  many 
other  plants  that  were  created  to  embellish  other  climes, 
are  rewarding  the  hands  that  cherished  them  with  their 
fairest  forms  and  hues.  All  these  are  destined,  not,  like 
the  flowers  of  our  own  clime,  to  live  throughout  their 
natural  period,  and  then  sink  quietly  into  decay,  but  to 
be  cut  down  by  frosts  in  the  very  summer  of  their  love- 
liness. Already  are  their  leaves  withered  and  blackened, 
while  the  native  plants  unseared  by  the  frost,  grow  bright- 


OCTOBER.  32  7 

er  and  brighter  with  every  new  morning,  until  they  are 
finally  seared  by  the  icy  breath  of  November. 

But  to  the  forests  we  must  look  to  behold  the  fairest 
spectacle  of  the  season,  now  glowing  with  the  infinitely 
varied  and  constantly  multiplying  tints  of  a  summer  sun- 
set. The  first  changes  appear  in  the  low  grounds,  where 
vegetation  is  exposed  to  the  earliest  blights,  and  is  prema- 
turely ripened  by  the  alternation  of  chill  dews  and  sun- 
shine. Often  in  the  space  of  one  night  the  leaves  of  the 
trees  are  metamorphosed  into  flowers,  as  if  the  dewdfopa 
brought  with  them  the  hues  of  the  beautiful  clouds  from 
which  they  fell.  But  Nature,  while  decorating  some  trees 
in  one  uniform  color,  scatters  over  the  remainder  a  gentle 
sprinkling  of  every  hue. 

It  is  my  delight  during  this  month  to  ramble  in  the 
field  and  wood,  to  take  note  of  these  changes  as  they 
happen  day  by  day.  Each  morning  witnesses  a  new 
aspect  in  the  face  of  Nature  like  each  passing  moment 
that  attends  the  brightening  and  fading  of  the  evening 
sky.  The  landscape  we  visited  but  a  few  days  since  is 
to-day  like  a  different  prospect,  save  in  the  arrangement 
of  the  grounds.  Beauty  has  suddenly  awoke  upon  the 
face  of  a  dull  and  homely  wood,  and  variety  has  sprung 
up  in  the  midst  of  tiresome  uniformity.  There  are  patches 
of  brightly  tinted  shrubbery  that  seem  to  have  risen  dur- 
ing the  night  from  the  bed  of  the  earth  where  yesterday 
there  was  but  a  dull  uniform  green,  and  when  surrounded 
by  the  unfaded  grasses,  they  resemble  little  flower-plats 
embosomed  in  verdure.  As  the  month  advances  one  t:  i 
after  another  partakes  of  this  beautiful  transformation. 
All  the  shades  of  red,  yellow,  and  purple  are  resplendent 
from  different  species.  It  seems  as  if  the  departed  flowers 
of  summer  had  revisited  the  earth,  and  were  wreathing 
their  garlands  around  the  brows  of  the  woods  and  the 
mountains. 


328  OCTOBER. 

On  every  side  of  our  walk  various  plats  of  herbage 
gleam  upon  our  sight,  each  with  some  unmingled  shade 
of  some  lovely  hue  ;  and  every  shrub  and  every  leafy 
herb  presents  the  appearance  of  a  scattered  variety  of 
bouquets,  wreaths,  and  floral  embroidery.  The  farms  in 
the  lowlands  display  wide  fields  of  intermingled  orange 
and  russet,  and  the  shrubs  of  different  colors  that  spring 
up  among  them  in  clumps  and  knolls  add  to  the  specta- 
cle an  endless  variety  of  splendor.  The  creeping  herbs 
and  trailing  vines,  some  begemmed  with  fruit,  display  the 
same  variety  of  tinting,  as  if  designed  for  wreaths  to  gar- 
land the  gray  rocks,  and  to  yield  a  smile  to  the  face  of  Na- 
ture that  shall  make  glad  the  heart  of  the  solitary  rambler, 
who  is  ready  to  weep  over  the  fair  objects  that  have  fled. 

Day  and  night  have  at  length  about  equally  divided 
the  light  and  the  darkness.  The  time  of  the  latter  harvest 
is  nearly  past,  and  the  winter  fruits  are  mostly  gathered 
into  barns.  The  mornings  and  evenings  are  cold  and 
cheerless,  and  the  west-wind  has  grown  harsh  and  uncom- 
fortable. The  bland  weather  of  early  autumn  is  rapidly 
gliding  from  our  year.  Night  is  continually  encroaching 
upon  the  dominion  of  day.  The  white  frosts  already 
glitter  in  the  arbors  of  the  summer  dews,  and  the  cold 
north-wind  is  whistling  rudely  in  the  haunts  of  the  sweet 
summer  zephyrs.  The  scents  of  fading  leaves  and  of  the 
ripened  harvest  have  driven  out  the  delicate  incense  of 
the  flowers  whose  fragrant  offerings  have  all  ascended  to 
heaven.  Dark  threatening  clouds  occasionally  frown  upon 
us  as  they  gather  for  a  few  hours  about  the  horizon,  the 
melancholy  omens  of  the  coming  of  winter.  But  there  is 
pleasantness  still  in  a  rural  excursion,  and  when  the  cold 
mists  of  dawn  have  passed  away  and  the  hoar-frost  has 
melted  in  the  warm  sunshine,  it  is  my  delight  to  go  out 
into  the  field  to  take  note  of  the  last  beautiful  things  of 
summer  that  linger  on  the  threshold  of  autumn. 


CHANGES   IN  THE  HABITS   OF   BIRDS. 

Birds  acquire  new  habits  as  certain  changes  take  place 
upon  the  surface  of  the  country  that  create  a  necessity  for 
using  different  modes  of  sheltering  and  protecting  their 
young.  Singing-birds  frequent  in  greatest  numbers  our 
half-cultivated  lands  and  the  woods  adjoining  them.  It 
may  therefore  be  inferred  that  as  the  country  grows 
older  and  is  more  extensively  cleared  and  cultivated,  the 
numbers  of  our  songsters  will  increase,  and  it  is  not  im- 
probable that  their  vocal  powers  may  improve.  It  may 
be  true  that  for  many  years  after  the  first  settlement  of 
this  country  there  were  but  few  singing-birds  and  that 
they  have  multiplied  with  the  cultivation  of  the  soil.  At 
that  time,  though  the  same  species  existed  here  and  were 
musical,  their  numbers  were  so  small  that  they  were  not 
universally  heard.  Hence  early  travellers  were  led  ,to 
believe  that  American  birds  were  generally  silent. 

By  a  little  observation  we  should  soon  be  convinced 
that  the  primitive  forest  contains  but  few  songsters. 
There  you  find  crows,  jays,  woodpeckers,  and  other 
noisy  birds  in  great  numbers  ;  and  you  occasionally  hear 
the  notes  of  the  sylvias  and  solitary  thrushes.  But  not 
until  you  are  in  the  vicinity  of  farms  and  other  culti- 
vated lands  are  your  ears  saluted  by  a  full  band  of  feath- 
ered musicians.  The  bobolinks  are  not  seen  in  a  forest, 
and  are  unfrequent  in  the  wild  pastures  or  meadows  which 
were  their  primitive  resorts.  At  the  present  day  they 
have  left  their  early  habitats,  and  seek  the  cultivated 
grass-lands,  that  afford  them  a  more  abundant  supply  of 


330  CHANGES  IN  THE  HABITS   OF   BIRDS. 

insect-food,  with  which  they  feed  their  young.  They 
build  upon  the  ground  in  the  grass,  and  their  nests  are 
exposed  in  great  numbers  by  the  scythe  of  the  mower,  if 
he  begins  haymaking  earlv  in  the  season. 

These  birds,  as  well  as  robins,  before  America  was  set- 
tled by  the  Europeans,  and  when  the  greater  part  of  the 
country  was  a  wilderness,  must  have  been  comparatively 
few.  Though  the  bobolink  consumes  great  quantities  of 
rice  after  the  young  are  fledged  and  the  whole  family  have 
departed,  it  is  not  the  rice-fields  which  have  made  its 
species  more  numerous,  but  the  increased  abundance  of 
insect  food  in  the  North,  where  they  breed,  —  an  increase 
consequent  upon  the  increased  amount  of  tillage.  The 
robins  are  dependent  entirely  upon  insect  food,  and  must 
have  multiplied  in  greater  proportion  than  the  bobolinks. 
There  are  probably  thousands  of  both  species  at  the  pres- 
ent day  to  as  many  hundreds  that  existed  at  the  dis- 
covery of  America.  Many  other  small  birds,  such  as  the 
song-sparrow  and  the  linnet,  have  increased  nearly  in 
the  same  ratio  with  the  progress  of  agriculture  and  the 
settlement  of  the  country. 

Domestication  blunts  the  original  instincts  of  animals 
and  renders  birds  partially  indifferent  to  colors.  It 
changes  their  plumage  as  well  as  their  instincts.  In  pro- 
portion to  the  length  of  time  any  species  has  been  domes- 
ticated, it  is  unsafe  to  depend  on  the  correctness  of  our 
observation  of  their  instincts  with  respect  to  colors.  All 
the  gallinaceous  birds,  except  the  common  hen,  lay  spec- 
kled eggs.  It  is  probable  that  during  the  thousands  of 
ages  since  the  latter  was  domesticated  her  eggs  have  lost 
their  original  marking  and  have  become  white.  As  great 
a  change  has  happened  in  their  plumage,  while  the  more 
recentlv  domesticated  birds,  like  the  turkey  and  guinea- 
hen,  retain  more  nearly  their  original  markings.  After 
domestication  birds  no  longer  require  to  be  protected  from 


CHANGES   IN   THE   HABITS   OF   BIRDS.  331 

the  sight  of  their  enemies  by  the  hues  of  their  plumage. 
Their  natural  predisposition  to  be  marked  only  by  a  cer- 
tain combination  of  hues  is  weakened.  Being  entirely  in 
the  power  and  under  the  protection  of  man,  color  is  of  no 
service  to  them,  as  in  their  natural  and  wild  state. 

Mr.  S.  P.  Fowler  communicated  to  the  Essex  Institute 
an  essay  containing  some  important  facts  concerning  the 
changes  in  the  habits  of  some  of  our  own  birds.  He  says  : 
"  The  Baltimore  oriole  still  constructs  her  nest  after  the 
old  pattern,  but  has  learned  to  weave  it  with  materials 
furnished  by  civilization.  I  have  a  whole  nest  of  this 
kind-,  made  wholly  from  materials  swept  out  of  a  milli- 
ner's shop,  woven  and  interlaced  with  ribbons  and  laces, 
including  a  threaded  needle."  He  has  noticed  for  several 
years  a  change  in  the  habits  of  our  crow-blackbirds,  and 
thinks  they  are  becoming  domesticated,  like  the  rooks  of 
England.  This  change,  in  his  opinion,  has  been  pro- 
duced by  planting  the  white  pine  in  cultivated  grounds ; 
for  wherever  a  group  of  pines  has  attained  the  height  of 
thirty  feet,  they  are  visited  by  these  birds  for  breeding, 
even  in  proximity  to  our  populous  villages.  He  states 
that  the  purple  finches  have  followed  the  evergreen  trees 
that  have  been  planted  in  our  enclosures,  though  a  few 
years  since  they  were  to  be  seen  chiefly  in  our  cedar 
groves.  They  have  grown  more  numerous,  and  breed  in 
his  grounds  on  the  branches  of  the  spruce,  feeding  early 
in  the  season  upon  the  flower-buds  of  the  elm  or  upon 
those  of  the  pear-tree. 

From  the  same  communication  I  gather  the  following 
facts,  slightly  abridging  his  statements.  He  remarks  that 
the  swallows  have  suffered  more  changes  than  any  other 
birds  of  our  vicinity.  The  barn-swallows  long  since  left 
their  ancient  breeding-places,  the  overhanging  cliffs  of 
rocks,  and  have  sought  buildings  erected  by  man  ;  the 
chimney-swallow  has  deserted  the  hollow  sycamore  for 


332  CHANGES   IN   THE   HABITS   OF   BIRDS. 

some  deserted  chimney;  and  the  cliff-swallow  has  left 
the  shelving  rock  to  seek  shelter  under  the  eaves  of  our 
roofs.  The  purple  martin  and  white-bellied  swallow 
have  left  the  wilderness  to  find  a  home  in  our  villages. 
The  purple  martins,  during  the  last  fifty  years,  have  grad- 
ually diminished  in  Eastern  Massachusetts.  He  thinks 
it  equally  certain  that  the  barn-swallows  are  growing 
less  numerous,  and  attributes  their  diminution  to  our 
modern  tight  barns.  Chimney-swallows,  on  the  other 
hand,  have  become  more  numerous.  The  opening  of  the 
Pacific  Railroad,  he  thinks;  will  cause  both  plants  and 
birds  to  follow  its  track. 


BIEDS   OF    THE  MOOR 


THE  AMERICAN  WOODCOCK. 


The  American  Woodcock  is  a  more  interesting  bird 
than  we  should  suppose  from  his  general  appearance  and 
physiognomy.  He  is  mainly  nocturnal  in  his  habits,  and 
his  ways  are  very  singular  and  worthy  of  study.  He  ob- 
tains his  food  by  scratching  up  the  leaves  and  rubbish 
that  lie  upon  the  surface  of  the  ground  in  damp  and 
wooded  places,  and  by  boring  into  the  earth  for  worms. 
He  remains  concealed  in  the  wood  during  the  day,  and 
comes  out  to  feed  at  twilight,  choosing  the  open  ploughed 
land  where  worms  are  abundant.  Yet  it  is  probable  that 
in  the  shade  of  the  wood  he  is  more  or  less  busy  among 
the  leaves  in  the  daytime. 

The  Woodcock  does  not  usually  venture  abroad  in  the 
open  day,  unless  he  be  disturbed  and  driven  from  his 
retreat.  He  makes  his  first  appearance  here  early  in 
April,  and  at  this  time  we  may  observe  that  soaring  habit 
which  renders  him  one  of  the  picturesque  objects  of 
nature.  This  soaring  takes  place  soon  after  sunset,  con- 
tinues during  twilight,  and  is  repeated  at  a  corresponding 
hour  in  the  morning.  If  you  listen  at  these  times  near 
the  place  of  his  resort,  he  will  soon  reveal  himself  by  a 
lively  peep,  frequently  uttered  from  the  ground.  While 
repeating  this  note  he  may  be  seen  strutting  about  like 
a  Turkey-cock,  with  fantastic  jerkings  of  the  tail  and  a 
frequent  turning  of  the  head  ;  and  his  mate  is,  I  believe, 
at  this  time  not  far  off.  Suddenly  he  springs  upward, 
and  with  a  wide  circular  sweep,  uttering  at  the  same  time 


334  BIRDS   OF   THE   MOOR. 

a  rapid  whistling  note,  lie  rises  in  a  spiral  course  to  a 
great  height  in  the  air.  At  the  summit  of  his  ascent,  he 
hovers  about  with  irregular  motions,  chirping  a  medley  of 
broken  notes,  like  imperfect  warbling.  This  continues 
about  ten  or  fifteen  seconds,  when  it  ceases  and  he  de- 
scends rapidly  to  the  ground.  We  seldom  hear  him  in 
his  descent,  but  receive  the  first  intimation  of  it  by 
the  repetition  of  his  peep,  like  the  sound  produced  by 
those  minute  wooden  trumpets  sold  at  the  German  toy- 
shops. 

No  person  could  watch  this  playful  flight  of  the  Wood- 
cock without  interest ;  and  it  is  remarkable  that  a  bird 
with  short  wings  and  difficult  flight  should  be  capable  of 
mounting  to  so  great  an  altitude.   It  affords  me  a  vivid  con- 
ception of  the  pleasure  with  which  I  should  witness  the 
soaring  and  singing  of  the  Skylark,  known  to  us  only  by 
description.     I  have  but  to  imagine  the  chirruping  of  the 
Woodcock  to  be  a  melodious  series  of  notes  to  feel  that  I 
am  listening  to  the  bird  which  has  been  so  familiarized  to 
us  by  English  poetry,  that  in  our  early  days  we  often 
watch  for  his  greeting  on  a  summer  sunrise.     It  is  with 
sadness  we  first  learn  that  the  Skylark  is  not  an  inhab- 
itant of  the  New  World ;  and  our  mornings  and  evenings 
seem  divested  of  a  great  part  of  their  charm  by  their 
want  of  this  lyric  accompaniment. 

There  are  other  sounds  connected  with  the  flight  of  the 
Woodcock  that  increase  his  importance  as  an  actor  in 
the  OTeat  melodrama  of  Nature.  When  we  stroll  away  at 
dusk  from  the  noise  of  the  town,  to  a  spot  where  the  still- 
ness permits  us  to  hear  distinctly  all  those  faint  sounds 
which  are  turned  by  the  silence  of  night  into  music,  we 
may  hear  at  frequent  intervals  the  hum  produced  by  the 
irregular  flight  of  the  Woodcock  as  he  passes  over  short 
distances  near  the  wood.  It  is  like  the  sound  of  the  wings 
of  Doves,  or  like  that  produced  by  the  rapid  whisking  of  a 


BIRDS   OF   THE   MOOR.  335 

slender  rod  through  the  air.  There  is  a  plaintive  feeling 
of  mystery  attached  to  these  musical  flights  that  yields 
a  savor  of  romance  to  the  quiet  voluptuousness  of  a 
summer  evening. 

On  such  occasions,  if  we  are  in  a  moralizing  mood, 
we  are  agreeably  impressed  with  the  truth  of  the  maxim 
that  the  secret  of  happiness  consists  in  keeping  alive 
our  susceptibilities  by  frugal  indulgence,  and  by  avoiding 
au  excess  of  pleasures  that  pall  in  proportion  to  their 
abundance.  The  stillness  and  darkness  of  a  quiet  night 
produce  this  quickening  effect  upon  our  minds.  Our 
susceptibility  is  then  awakened  to  such  a  degree  that 
slight  sounds  and  faintly  discernible  lights  convey  to 
us  an  amount  of  pleasure  that  is  seldom  felt  in  the 
daytime  from  influences  even  of  a  more  inspiring  char- 
acter. Thus  the  player  in  an  orchestra  can  enjoy  such 
music  only  as  would  deafen  common  ears  by  its  crash 
of  sounds  in  which  they  can  perceive  no  connection  or 
harmony ;  while  the  simple  rustic  listens  to  the  rude 
notes  of  a  flageolet  in  the  hands  of  a  clown  with  feelings 
of  ineffable  delight.  To  the  seekers  after  luxurious  and 
exciting  pleasures,  Nature,  if  they  could  but  understand 
her  language,  would  say,  "  Except  ye  become  as  this 
simple  rustic,  ye  cannot  enter  into  my  paradise." 


THE   SNIPE. 

The  Snipe  has  the  nocturnal  habits  of  the  Woodcock, 
and  is  common  in  New  England  in  the  spring  and  au- 
tumn, but  does  not  often  breed  here.  It  has  the  same 
habits  of  feeding  as  the  Woodcock,  and  the  same  way  of 
soaring  into  the  air  during  morning  and  evening  twilight, 
when  he  performs  a  sort  of  musical  medley,  which  Audu- 
bon has  described  in  the  following  passage:  "The  birds 
are  met  with  in  the  meadows  and  low  grounds,  and  by 


336  BIRDS   OF   THE   MOOR. 

being  on  the  spot  before  sunrise,  you  may  see  both  male 
and  female  mount  high  in  a  spiral  manner,  now  with  con- 
tinuous beats  of  the  wings,  now  in  short  sailings,  until 
more  than  a  hundred  yards  high,  when  they  whirl  round 
each  other  with  extreme  velocity,  and  dance  as  it  were  to 
their  own  music  ;  for  at  this  juncture,  and  during  the 
space  of  four  or  five  minutes,  you  hear  rolling  notes 
mingled  together,  each  more  or  less  distinct,  perhaps, 
according  to  the  state  of  the  atmosphere.  The  sounds 
produced  are  extremely  pleasing,  though  they  fall  faintly 
on  the  ear.  I  know  not  how  to  describe  them ;  but  I  am 
well  assured  that  they  are  not  produced  simply  by  the 
beatings  of  their  wings,  as  at  this  time  the  wings  are  not 
napped,  but  are  used  in  sailing  swiftly  in  a  circle,  not 
many  feet  in  diameter.  A  person  might  cause  a  sound 
somewhat  similar,  by  blowing  rapidly  and  alternately 
from  one  end  to  another  across  a  set  of  small  pipes  con- 
sisting of  two  or  three  modulations.  This  performance 
is  kept  up  till  incubation  terminates ;  but  I  have  never 
observed  it  at  any  other  period."  In  this  respect  the 
Snipe  differs  from  the  Woodcock,  whose  nocturnal  flights 
I  have  not  witnessed  except  in  April  and  perhaps  the 
early  part  of  May.  The  time  occupied  by  the  Woodcock 
in  the  air  is  never  more,  I  am  confident,  than  fifteen  sec- 
onds, and  the  notes  uttered  by  him  while  poised  at  the 
summit  of  his  ascent  sound  exactly  like  chip,  chip,  chip, 
chip,  chip,  chip,  about  as  rapidly  as  we  might  utter  them 
in  a  loud  whisper. 

THE  VIRGINIA  RAIL. 

The  shyness  and  timidity  of  the  Virginia  Kail,  and  the 
quickness  of  its  movements,  its  peculiar  graceful  atti- 
tudes, and  the  rare  occasions  on  which  we  can  obtain 
sight  of  one,  combine  to  render  this  bird  highly  interest- 


BIRDS   OF   THE   MOOR.  337 

ing.  It  is  so  seldom  seen  on  account  of  its  habit  of  con- 
cealment during  the  day  and  of  feeding  at  evening  and 
morning  twilight,  that  many  persons  have  never  met  with 
it.  It  is  in  fact  quite  a  common  bird,  and  breeds  in  the 
thickets  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  our  rivers  and  ponds. 
I  have  seen  numbers  of  this  species  in  the  meadows  sur- 
rounding Fresh  Pond  in  Cambridge  when  hunting  for 
aquatic  plants  and  flowers ;  but  I  have  not  discovered 
their  nests.  Samuels  says  the  eggs,  which  are  from  six 
to  ten  in  number,  are  of  a  deep  buff  color,  and  that  their 
nest  "is  nothing  but  a  pile  of  weeds  or  grass  which  it 
arranges  in  a  compact  manner,  and  hollows  to  the  depth 
perhaps  of  an  inch  or  an  inch  and  a  half." 

This  is  a  very  pretty  species.  The  upper  parts  are 
brown,  striped  with  deeper  shades  of  the  same  color; 
the  feathers  on  the  breast  are  of  a  bright  brown  deep- 
ening into  red ;  the  wings  black  and  chestnut  with  some 
white  lines.  It  resembles  somewhat  a  miniature  hen  with 
long  legs  and  short  tail,  and  is  very  nimble  in  its  move- 
ments. This  species  is  most  commonly  found  in  those 
fresh  meadows  into  which  the  salt  water  extends  or  those 
salt  marshes  which  are  pervaded  by  a  stream  of  fresli 
water.  They  feed  more  on  worms  and  insects  than  upon 
seeds  and  grain,  though  they  do  not  refuse  a  granivorous 
diet. 

THE   CLAPPER  RAIL. 

I  have  so  seldom  seen  the  Clapper  Rail,  though  I  have 
many  times  heard  its  clattering  notes,  that  I  have  nothing 
to  say  of  it  from  my  own  observation.  But  as  it  is  not 
un frequent  on  the  New  England  coast,  it  seems  a  fit  sub- 
ject to  be  introduced  in  my  descriptions  of  picturesque 
birds.  I  shall,  therefore,  in  this  case  deviate  from  my 
general  practice  of  writing  from  my  own  experience, 
and  insert  in  this  place  a  brief  abstract  of  an  essay  on 

15  v 


338  BIRDS   OF   THE  MOOR. 

"  The  Clapper  Bail,"  by  Dr.  E.  Coues,  published  in  the 
"American  Naturalist,"  Vol.  III.  pp.  600-607. 

The  Clapper  Kail,  or  Salt-water  Marsh  Hen,  inhabits 
the  marshes  all  along  our  coast,  within  reach  of  the  tides, 
rarely,  if  ever,  straying  inward.  It  goes  as  far  as  Massa- 
chusetts, where  it  is  rare ;  but  is  found  abundantly  in  the 
Middle  States,  and  in  countless  numbers  on  the  coast  of 
North  Carolina,  where  it  spends  the  whole  year.  The 
young  birds  while  in  their  downy  plumage  are  jet  black, 
with  a  faint  gloss  of  green,  resembling  newly  hatched 
chickens.  Eails  live  in  the  marshes,  and  are  not  very 
often  seen  except  when  they  fly  up. 

The  eggs  of  the  Clapper  Rail  are  of  a  pale  buff  or 
cream  color.  They  are  dotted  or  splashed  with  irregular 
spots  of  a  dull  purple  or  lilac  color;  and  the  number 
found  in  a  nest  is  from  six  to  nine.  They  raise  two 
broods  in  a  season,  and  some  idea  of  the  countless  num- 
bers of  Rails  in  the  marshes  may  be  gained  from  the  fact 
that  baskets  full  of  eggs  are  gathered  by  boys  and  brought 
to  the  Beaufort  market. 

The  Rails'  nests  are  sometimes  floated  away  and  de- 
stroyed by  an  unusual  rise  of  the  tide  caused  by  a  storm. 
A  great  tragedy  of  this  kind  happened  at  Fort  Macon  on 
the  22d  of  May,  1869,  when  the  marsh,  usually  above 
water,  was  flooded,  —  only  here  and  there  a  little  knoll 
breaking  the  monotony  of  the  water.  There  was  a  ter- 
rible commotion  among  the  Rails  at  first,  and  the  reeds 
iresounded  with  their  hoarse  cries  of  terror.  But  as  the 
waters  advanced  and  inundated  their  houses  the  birds 
became  silent  again,  as  if  in  unspeakable  misery.  They 
wandered  in  listless  dejection  over  beds  of  floating  wrack, 
swam  aimlessly  over  the  water,  or  gathered  stupefied  in 
groups  upon  projecting  knolls.  Few  of  the  old  birds 
probably  were  drowned,  but  most  of  the  young  must 
have  perished. 


BIRDS   OF   THE   MOOR.  339 

As  if  to  guard  against  such  an  accident,  the  Rails  gen- 
erally build  their  nests  around  the  margins  of  the  marsh 
or  in  elevated  spots,  at  about  the  usual  high- water  mark. 
The  nest  is  always  placed  on  the  ground,  in  a  bunch  of 
reeds  or  tussock  of  grass  or  clump  of  little  hushes.  It 
is  a  flimsy  structure  made  of  dry  grasses  or  reed-stalks 
broken  in  pieces  and  matted  together,  but  not  inter- 
twined. Sometimes  it  is  barely  thick  enough  to  keep 
the  eggs  from  the  wet. 

The  Rail,  though  not  formed  like  a  natatorial  bird, 
swims  very  well  for  short  distances.  Dr.  Coues  has 
often  seen  it  take  to  the  water  from  choice,  without 
necessity,  and  noticed  that  it  swam  buoyantly  and  with 
ease,  like  a  coot.  But  the  bird  is  a  poor  flyer,  and  it  is 
surprising,  therefore,  that  some  of  the  family  perform  such 
extensive  migrations.  The  Rails,  in  fact,  are  not  distin- 
guished either  as  flyers  or  swimmers.  But  as  walkers 
they  are  unsurpassed;  and  have  the  power  of  making  a 
remarkable  compression  of  their  body,  that  enables  them 
to  pass  through  close-set  reeds.  The  bird  indeed,  when 
rapidly  and  slyly  stealing  through  the  brush,  becomes 
literally  as  "  thin  as  a  rail." 

Rails  are  among  the  most  harmless  and  inoffensive  of 
birds.  But  when  wounded  or  caught,  they  make  the  best 
fight  they  can  and  show  good  spirit.  In  this  case  they 
use  their  sharp  claws  for  a  weapon  rather  than  their  slen- 
der bill.  A  colony  of  Rails  goes  far  towards  relieving  a 
marsh  of  its  monotony.  Retiring  and  unfamiliar  as  they 
are,  and  seldom  seen,  considering  their  immense  numbers, 
they  have  at  times  a  very  effective  way  of  asserting  them- 
selves. Silent  during  a  great  part  of  the  year,  or  at  most 
only  indulging  in  a  spasmodic  croak  now  and  then,  dur- 
ing the  breeding-season  they  are  perhaps  the  noisiest  birda 
in  the  country.  Let  a  gun  be  fired  in  the  marsh,  and  like 
the  reverberating  echoes  of  the  report  a  hundred  cries 


340  BIRDS   OF   THE   MOOR. 

come  instantly  from  as  many  startled  throats.  The  noise 
spreads  on  all  sides,  like  ripples  on  the  water  at  the  plash 
of  a  stone,  till  it  dies  away  in  the  distance.  In  the  even- 
ing and  morning  particularly,  the  Rails  seem  perfectly 
reckless,  and  their  jovial  if  unmusical  notes  resound  till 
the  very  reeds  seem  to  quake.  Dr.  Coues  compares  them 
to  the  French  claqueurs.  Unobtrusive,  unrecognized  ex- 
cept by  a  few,  almost  unknown  to  the  uninitiated,  the 
birds  steadily  and  faithfully  fulfil  their  allotted  parts; 
like  claqueurs  they  fill  the  pit,  ready  at  a  sign  to  applaud 
anything  that  may  be  going  on  in  the  drama  of  life  before 
them. 

THE  HERON. 

No  family  of  birds  is  possessed  of  more  of  those 
qualities  which  are  especially  regarded  as  picturesque 
than  the  Herons.  This  family  comprehends  a  great  many 
species,  distinguished  by  their  remarkable  appearance 
both  when  flying  aloft  and  when  wading  in  their  native 
swamps.  They  are  generally  seen  in  flocks,  passing  the 
day  in  sluggish  inactivity,  but  called  forth  to  action  by 
hunger  in  the  evening  when  they  take  their  food.  It  is 
at  the  hour  just  after  twilight  that  their  peculiar  cries 
are  heard  far  aloft  as  they  pass  from  their  secluded  day- 
haunts  to  their  nocturnal  feeding-places.  Their  flight 
deserves  attention  from  their  slow  and  solemn  motion  on 
the  wing.  Their  flying  attitude,  however,  is  uncouth, 
with  theneck  bent  backwards,  their  head  resting  against 
their  shoulders,  and  their  long  legs  stretched  out  behind 
them  in  the  most  awkward  manner. 

THE   BITTERN. 

Among  the  Heron  family  we  discover  a  few  birds  which, 
though  not  very  well  known,  have  ways  that  are  singular 


BIRDS   OF   THE   MOOR.  341 

and  interesting.  Goldsmith  considered  one  of  these 
worthy  of  introduction  into  his  "Deserted  Village"  us 
contributing  to  the  poetic  sentiment  of  desolation.  Tims, 
in  his  description  of  the  grounds  which  were  the  ancient 
site  of  the  village,  we  read :  — 

"Along  its  glades,  a  solitary  guest, 
The  hollow-sounding  Bittern  guards  its  nest." 

The  American  Bittern  is  a  smaller  bird  than  the  one  to 
which  the  poet  alludes,  but  is  probably  a  variety  of  the 
European  species.  It  displays  the  same  nocturnal  habits, 
and  has  received  at  the  South  the  name  of  Dwnkadoo^ 
from  the  resemblance  of  its  common  note  to  those  sylla- 
bles. This  is  a  hollow-sounding  noise,  which  would  at- 
tract the  attention  of  every  listener.  I  have  heard  it  by 
day  in  wooded  swamps  near  ponds,  and  am  at  a  loss  to 
explain  how  so  small  a  bird  can  produce  so  low  and  hol- 
low a  note.  The  common  people  of  England  have  a 
notion  that  it  thrusts  its  head  into  a  hollow  reed  and  uses 
it  as  a  speaking-trumpet,  and  at  times  puts  its  head  into 
the  water  and  bubbles  its  notes  in  imitation  of  a  bullfrog. 
The  American  Bittern  utters  another  note  resembling  the 
sound  produced  by  hammering  upon  a  stake  when  driv- 
ing it  into  the  ground.  Hence  the  name  of  Stake-drivi  r 
applied  to  him  in  some  parts  of  New  England. 

THE   QUA   BIRD. 

On  a  still  evening  in  summer  no  sound  is  more  com- 
mon  above  our  heads  than  the  singular  voice  of  the  Qua 
Bird,  as  he  passes  in  slow  and  solemn  flight  from  his  re- 
treats where  he  passes  the  day  to  his  feeding-places  upon 
the  sea-shore.  His  note  is  like  the  syllable  quaw  sud- 
denly pronounced.  If  it  were  prolonged  it  might  resem- 
ble the  cawing  of  a  Crow.  This  note  is  very  frequently 
repeated,  though  one  note  by  the  same  bird   is    never 


342  BIRDS   OF   THE   MOOR. 

immediately  succeeded  by  another.  The  birds  of  this 
species  are  social  in  their  habits,  and  the  woods  in  which 
they  assemble  are  called  heronries.  During  the  breed- 
ing-season they  are  extremely  noisy,  uttering  the  most 
uncouth  and  unmusical  sounds  that  can  be  imagined. 


THE  CRANE,  OR  BLUE  HERON. 

The  Crane  is  a  very  attractive  bird ;  but  the  only  in- 
dividuals of  the  species  I  have  seen  enough  to  study 
their,  ways  and  manners  were  tamed.  There  is  a  sort  of 
majesty  in  their  appearance  which  I  could  not  but  admire. 
"During  the  day,"  says  Samuels,  -"the  Crane  seems  to 
prefer  the  solitudes  of  the  forest  for  its  retreat,  as  it  is 
usually  seen  in  the  meadows  only  at  early  morning  and 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon.  It  then,  by  the  side 
of  a  ditch  or  a  pond,  is  observed  patiently  watching  for 
its  prey.  It  remains  standing  motionless,  until  a  fish  or 
a  frog  presents  itself,  when  with  an  unerring  stroke  with 
its  beak,  as  quick  as  lightning  it  seizes,  beats  to  pieces, 
and  swallows  it.  This  act  is  often  repeated ;  and  as  the 
Heron  varies  this  diet  with  meadow-mice,  snakes,  and 
insects,  it  certainly  does  not  lead  the  life  of  misery  and 
want  that  many  writers  ascribe  to  it." 

This  bird,  like  the  Night  Heron,  breeds  in  communities. 
Samuels  once  visited  with  some  attendants  a  heronry  of 
this  species  in  a  deep  swamp,  intersected  by  a  branch  of 
the  Androscoggin  Eiver.  The  swamp  over  which  he  had 
to  pass  was  full  of  quagmires  ;  and  these  he  could  hardly 
distinguish  from  the  green  turfy  ground.  It  was  only  by 
wading  through  mud  and  water,  sometimes  nearly  up  to 
his  waist,  or  by  leaping  from  one  fallen  tree  to  another, 
through  briers  and  brushwood,  that  he  arrived  beneath 
the  trees  which  the  birds  occupied.  These  were  dead 
hemlocks,  without  branches  less  than  thirty  feet  from  the 


BIRDS   OF    THE   MOOR.  343 

ground,  and  could  not  be  climbed.  The  nests,  placed  in 
the  summits  of  the  trees,  were  nearly  flat,  constructed  of 
twigs  and  put  together  very  loosely.  It  was  on  the  25th 
of  June,  and  the  young  were  about  two  thirds  grown. 
He  says  the  old  birds  flew  over  their  heads  uttering  their 
hoarse,  husky,  and  guttural  cries.  He  observed,  however, 
that  they  were  careful  to  keep  out  of  gunshot.  The  eggs, 
he  says,  are  of  a  bluish-green  color,  and  but  one  brood 
is  reared  in  the  season.  The  birds  are  very  suspicious  ; 
they  are  constantly  looking  out  for  danger,  and  with 
their  keen  eyes,  long  neck,  and  fine  sense  of  hearing, 
they  immediately  detect  the  approach  of  a  gunner. 


SOUNDS  FROM  INANIMATE  NATURE. 

Nature  in  every  scene  and  situation  has  established 
sounds  which  are  indicative  of  their  character.  The 
sounds  we  hear  in  the  hollow  dells  among  the  mountains 
are  unlike  those  of  the  open  plains  ;  and  the  echoes  of 
the  sea-shore  repeat  sounds  never  reverberated  in  the 
inland  valleys.  The  murmuring  of  wind  and  the  rus- 
tling of  foliage,  the  gurgling  of  streams  and  the  bubbling 
of  fountains,  come  to  our  ears  like  the  music  of  our  early 
days,  accompanied  with  many  agreeable  fancies.  A 
stream  rolling  over  a  rough  declivity,  a  fountain  bubbling 
up  from  a  subterranean  hollow,  give  sounds  suggestive 
of  fragrant  summer  arbors,  of  cool  retreats  and  all  their 
delightful  accompaniments. 

The  most  agreeable  expression  from  the  noise  of  waters 
is  their  animation.  They  give  life  to  the  scenes  around 
us,  like  the  voices  of  birds  and  insects.  In  winter  espe- 
cially they  make  an  agreeable  interruption  of  the  gen- 
eral stillness,  and  remind  us  that  during  the  slumber  of 
all  visible  things  some  hidden  power  is  still  guiding  the 
operations  of  Nature.  The  rapids  produced  by  a  small 
stream  flowing  over  some  gentle  declivity  yield,  per- 
haps, the  most  expressive  sound  of  waters,  save  the  dis- 
tant roar  of  waves  as  they  are  dashed  upon  the  sea- 
shore. The  last,  being  intermittent,  is  preferable  to  the 
roar  of  a  waterfall,  which  is  tiresomely  incessant.  Nearly 
all  the  sounds  made  by  water  are  agreeable,  and  cannot 
be  multiplied  without  increasing  the  delightful  influences 
of  the  place  and  the  season. 


SOUNDS  FROM   INANIMATE  NATURE.  345 

Each  season  of  the  year  has  its  peculiar  melodies  beside 
those  proceeding  from  animated  objects.  In  the  opening 
of  the  year,  when  the  leaves  are  tender  and  pliable,  there 
is  a  mellowness  in  the  sound  of  the  breezes,  as  if  they 
felt  the  voluptuous  influence  of  spring.  Nature  then 
softens  all  the  sounds  from  inanimate  things,  as  if  to 
avoid  making  any  harsh  discords  with  the  anthem  that 
issues  from  the  woodlands,  vocal  with  the  songs  of  myr- 
iads of  happy  creatures.  The  echoes  repeat  less  distinctly 
the  multitudinous  notes  of  birds,  insects,  and  reptiles.  To 
the  echoes  spring  and  summer  are  seasons  of  compar- 
ative rest,  save  when  residing  among  the  rocks  of  the 
desert  or  among  the  crags  of  the  sea-shore.  Here  sitting 
invisibly  in  these  retreats,  they  are  ever  responding  to  the 
melancholy  sounds  that  are  borne  upon  the  waves  as  they 
sullenly  recount  the  perils  and  accidents  of  the  great  deep. 

But  there  are  reverberations  which  are  too  refined  and 
subtle  to  be  distinguished  as  echoes.  All  creation,  indeed, 
is  a  vast  assemblage  of  musical  instruments,  whose  chords 
vibrate  to  every  sound  in  Nature.  Every  sound  that 
peals  over  the  landscape  is  in  communication  with  millions 
of  harps  whose  strings  give  out  some  response  in  harmony 
with  the  season  and  situation.  As  every  ray  of  light 
coming  from  the  farthest  perceptible  distance  in  the  uni- 
verse is  repeated  millions  of  times  in  various  forms  of 
beauty  from  dews  and  gems  and  flowers,  —  in  the  same 
manner  do  the  sounds  in  the  atmosphere  vibrate  from 
every  spear  of  grass  and  every  leaf  of  the  forest,  pro- 
ducing some  unconscious  pleasure. 

After  the  frosts  of  autumn  the  winds  become  shriller 
as  they  pass  over  the  naked  reeds  and  rushes  and  through 
the  leafless  brandies  of  the  trees,  and  there  is  a  familiar 
sadness  in  their  murmurs,  as  they  whirl  among  the  dry 
rustling  leaves.  When  the  winter  has  arrived  and  en- 
shrouded all  the  landscape  in  snow,  the   echoes  venture 


346  SOUNDS   FROM  INANIMATE  NATURE. 

out  once  more  on  the  open  plain,  and  repeat  with  unusual 
distinctness  the  various  sounds  from  wood,  village,  and 
farm.  During  the  winter  they  enjoy  a  long  heyday  of 
freedom  ;  they  hold  a  laughing  revelry  in  the  haunts  of 
the  dryad,  and  seem  to  rejoice  as  they  sing  together  over 
the  desolate  appearance  of  Nature. 

When  the  sun  gains  a  few  more  degrees  in  his  meridian 
height,  and  the  snow  begins  to  disappear  under  the  fervor 
of  his  beams,  then  do  the  sounds  from  the  dropping  eaves 
and  the  clash  of  falling  icicles  from  the  boughs  of  the 
orchard-trees  afford  a  pleasant  sensation  of  the  change  ; 
and  the  utterance  of  these  vernal  promises  awakens  all 
the  delightful  anticipations  of  birds  and  flowers.  The 
moaning  of  winds  has  been  plainly  softened  by  the  new 
season,  and  the  summer  zephyrs,  that  occasionally  pay 
us  a  short  visit  from  the  south,  and  signalize  their  com- 
ing by  the  crimsoned  dews  at  sunrise,  loosen  a  thousand 
rills,  that  make  lively  music  as  they  leap  down  the  hill- 
sides into  the  valleys.  Yet  of  all  these  sounds  from 
inanimate  Nature,  there  is  not  one  but  is  hallowed  by 
some  glad  or  tender  sentiment,  of  which  it  is  suggestive, 
and  we  have  but  to  yield  our  hearts  to  their  influences 
to  feel  that  for  the  ear  as  well  as  for  the  eye,  Nature 
has  provided  an  endless  store  of  pleasure. 

I  believe  the  agreeable  sounds  from  the  inanimate 
world  owe  their  principal  effect  to  their  power  of  gently 
exciting  the  sentiment  of  melancholy.  The  murmur  of 
gentle  gales  among  the  trembling  aspen-trees,  the  noise 
of  the  hurricane  upon  the  sea-shore,  the  roar  of  distant 
wTaters,  the  sighing  of  wind  as  it  flits  by  our  windows 
and  moans  through  the  casement,  have  the  power  of  ex- 
citing just  enough  of  the  sentiment  of  melancholy  to 
produce  an  agreeable  state  of  the  mind.  Along  with  the 
melancholy  they  excite  there  is  something  that  tranquil- 
lizes the  soul  and  exalts  it  above  the  mere  pleasures  of 
sense. 


SOUNDS   FKOM  INANIMATE  NATURE.  347 

It  is  this  power  to  produce  the  sentiment  of  melancholy 
that  causes  the  sound  of  rain  to  afford  pleasure.  The 
pattering  of  rain  upon  our  windows,  but  more  especially 
upon  the  roof  of  the  house  under  which  we  are  sitting,  is 
attended  with  a  singular  charm.  There  are  few  persons 
who  do  not  recollect  with  a  sense  of  delight  some  adven- 
ture in  a  shower,  that  obliged  them  on  a  journey  to  take 
shelter  under  a  rustic  roof  by  the  wayside.  The  pleasure 
produced  by  the  sight  and  sound  of  the  rain  under  this 
retreat  often  comes  more  delightfully  to  our  memory  than 
all  the  sunshiny  adventures  of  the  day.  But  in  order  to 
be  affected  in  the  most  agreeable  manner  by  the  sound  of 
rain,  it  is  necessary  to  be  in  company  witli  those  whom 
we  love,  or  to  feel  an  assurance  that  the  objects  of  our 
care  are  within  doors,  and  to  be  ignorant  of  any  person's 
exposure  to  its  violence. 

During  a  thunder-storm  the  thunder  is  in  many  cases 
too  terrific  to  allow  us  to  feel  a  tranquil  enjoyment  of  the 
occasion.  There  is  no  sound  in  Nature  that  is  so  pleas- 
antly modified  by  distance.  Some  minutes  before  the 
thunder-storm  there  is  a  perfect  stillness  of  the  atmosphere 
which  is  fearfully  ominous  of  the  approaching  tempest. 
It  follows  the  first  enshrouding  of  daylight  in  the  clouds 
which  are  slowly  gathering  over  our  heads,  as  they  come 
up  from  the  western  horizon.  It  is  at  such  times  that  the 
sullen  moan  of  the  thunder,  far  down  as  it  were  below 
the  belt  of  the  hemisphere,  is  peculiarly  solemn  and  im- 
pressive, and  more  productive  of  the  emotion  of  sublimity 
than  when  the  crash  is  heard  directly  over  our  heads. 
To  be  witness  of  a  storm  is  pleasant  when  we  are,  and 
believe  others  to  be,  in  a  place  of  safety.  Then  do  we 
listen  with  intense  delimit  to  the  voice  of  winds  and 
waters  as  they  contend  with  the  Demon  of  the  storm, 
and  the  awful  warring  of  the  elements  excites  the  most 
sublime  sensations,  unalloyed  with  any  painful  anxiety 
for  the  safety  of  a  fellow-being. 


o 


•48  SOUNDS   FROM  INANIMATE  NATURE. 


Thunder  is  heard  with  different  emotions  when  it  pro- 
ceeds from  clouds  which  are  moving  towards  us  and  when 
from  those  already,  settled  down  in  the  east,  after  the 
storm  is  past.  The  consciousness  that  the  one  indicates 
a  rising  storm  renders  forcibly  suggestive  the  perils  we 
are  soon  to  encounter  and  increases  our  anxiety.  When 
we  are  in  the  midst  of  the  storm  we  feel  the  emotion  of 
terror  rather  than  that  of  sublimity.  An  uncomfortable 
amount  of  anxiety  destroys  that  tranquillity  of  mind 
which  is  necessary  for  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  sublime 
as  well  as  the  beautiful  scenes  of  Naure. 

It  is  pleasant  after  the  terrors  of  the  storm  have  ceased, 
when  the  blue  sky  in  the  west  begins  to  appear  in  dim 
streaks  through  the  misty  and  luminous  atmosphere,  to 
watch  the  lightnings  from  a  window,  as  they  play  down 
the  dark  clouds  in  the  eastern  horizon,  and  to  listen  to 
the  rumblings  of  the  thunder  as  it  begins  loudly  overhead, 
then  dies  away  almost  like  the  roaring  of  waves  in  a  dis- 
tant part  of  the  heavens.  Then  do  we  contemplate  the 
spectacle  with  a  grateful  sense  of  relief  from  the  fears 
that  lately  agitated  the  mind,  and  surrender  our  souls  to 
all  the  influences  naturally  awakened  by  a  mingled  scene 
of  beauty  and  grandeur. 

The  emotion  of  sublimity  is  more  powerfully  excited 
by  any  circumstances  that  add  mystery  to  a  scene  or  to 
the  sounds  we  may  be  contemplating.  Hence  any  un- 
known sound  that  resembles  that  of  an  earthquake  im- 
presses the  mind  at  once  with  a  feeling  of  awe,  however 
insignificant  its  origin.  The  booming  of  a  cannon  over  a 
distance  that  renders  its  identity  uncertain  causes  in  the 
hearers  a  breathless  attention,  as  to  something  ominous 
of  danger.  We  may  thus  explain  why  all  sounds  are  so 
suggestive  in  the  stillness  of  night:  the  rustling  of  a 
zephyr  as  it  glides  half  noiselessly  through  the  trees ;  a 
few  heavy  drops  of  rain  from  a  passing  cloud,  the  signal 


SOUNDS   FROM   INANIMATE   NATURE.  340 

of  an  approaching  storm ;  the  footfall  of  a  solitary  pas- 
senger on  the  road;  the  tinkling  of  a  cowbell,  heard 
now  and  then  from  a  neighboring  field,  —  all  these  are 
dependent  on  the  stillness  and  darkness  of  the  night  for 
their  influence  on  the  mind. 

It  is  evident  that  the  charm  of  all  these  sounds  is  ex- 
alted by  the  imagination.  A  person  who  has  not  cultivated 
this  faculty  is  deaf  to  a  thousand  pleasures  from  this 
source  that  form  a  considerable  part  of  the  happiness  of 
a  man  of  sensibility.  Music  has  no  advantage  over  other 
sounds  save  its  greater  power  to  act  upon  the  imagination. 
To  appreciate  the  charm  of  musical  notes,  or  to  perceive 
the  beauty  of  an  elegant  house  or  of  splendid  tapestry, 
requires  no  mental  culture.  But  to  be  susceptible  of 
pleasure  from  what  are  commonly  regarded  as  indifferent 
sounds  is  the  meed  only  of  those  who  have  cherished  the 
higher  faculties  and  the  better  feelings  of  the  soul.  To 
such  persons  the  world  is  full  of  suggestive  sounds  as 
well  as  suggestive  sights,  and  not  the  whisper  of  a  breeze 
or  the  murmur  of  a  wave  but  is  in  unison  with  some 
chord  in  their  memory  or  imagination. 


OLD   EOADS. 

I  cannot  say  that  I  am  an  admirer  of  those  tasteful 
operations  which  are  commonly  termed  improvements, 
and  seldom  observe  them  without  a  feeling  of  regret. 
More  of  the  beauty  of  landscape  is  destroyed  every 
year  by  attempts  to  improve  it,  than  by  the  ignorant  or 
avaricious  woodman  who  cuts  down  his  trees  for  the 
railroad  or  the  shipyard.  There  is  a  certain  kind  of 
beauty  which  ought  to  be  cherished  by  the  people  of 
every  land ;  including  all  such  appearances  as  have  arisen 
from  operations  not  designed  to  create  embellishment. 
As  soon  as  we  begin  to  cultivate  a  garden  or  decorate  a 
house  or  an  enclosure  with  the  hope  of  dazzling  the 
public  eye,  at  that  moment  the  spell  of  beauty  is  broken, 
and  all  the  enchantment  vanishes.  There  is  something 
exceedingly  delightful  in  the  ornaments  that  have  arisen 
spontaneously  in  those  grounds  which,  after  they  were 
once  reduced  to  tillage,  have  been  left  for  many  years 
in  the  primitive  hands  of  Nature.  Tain  are  all  our  at- 
tempts to  imitate  these  indescribable  beauties,  such  as 
we  find  along  the  borders  of  an  old  rustic  farm,  on  an 
old  roadside,  or  in  a  pasture  that  is  overgrown  with  spon- 
taneous shrubbery. 

This  kind  of  scenery  is  common  in  almost  all  those 
old  roads  which  are  not  used  as  thoroughfares,  but  as 
avenues  of  communication  between  our  small  country 
villages.  Our  land  is  full  of  these  rustic  by-ways; 
and  the  rude  scenery  about  them  is  more  charming  to 
my  sight  than  the  most  highly  ornamented  landscapes 


OLD   ROADS.  3,31 

which  have  been  dressed  by  the  hand  of  art.  A  part 
of  their  charm  arises,  undoubtedly,  from  their  associa- 
tion in  our  minds  with  the  simplicity  of  life  that  once 
prevailed  among  our  rural  population.  But  this  is  not 
all.  I  believe  it  arises  chiefly  from  the  almost  entire  ab- 
sence of  decoration,  save  that  which  Nature  has  planted 
with  her  own  hands.  Wherever  we  see  a  profusion  of 
embellishments  introduced  by  art,  though  they  consist 
wholly  of  natural  objects,  we  no  longer  feel  the  presence 
of  Nature's  highest  charm.  Something  very  analogous 
to  sunshine  is  shut  out.  The  rural  deities  do  not  dwell 
there,  and  cannot  inspire  us  with  a  fulness  of  satisfac- 
tion. It  is  difficult  to  explain  the  cause ;  but  when  I 
am  rambling  the  fields  or  travelling  over  one  of  these 
old  roads  with  that  sort  of  quiet  rapture  with  which 
we  drift  along  in  a  boat  down  a  narrow  stream  through 
the  green  woods  in  summer,  the  very  first  highly  arti- 
ficial object  I  encounter  which  bears  evidence  of  being 
put  up  for  exhibition  dissolves  the  spell,  and  I  feel,  all 
at  once,  as  if  I  had  stepped  out  of  Paradise  into  the 
land  of  worldlings  and  vanity. 

The  beauty  of  our  old  roads  does  not  consist  in  their 
crookedness,  though  it  cannot  be  denied  that  this  qual- 
ity destroys  their  monotony  and  adds  variety  to  our 
prospect  by  constantly  changing  our  position.  Neither 
does  their  beauty  consist  in  their  narrowness,  though  it 
will  be  admitted  that  this  condition  renders  them  more 
interesting  by  bringing  their  bushy  sidewalks  nearer  to- 
gether. Their  principal  charm  comes  from  the  character 
of  their  roadsides,  now  overgrown  with  all  that  blended 
variety  of  herbs  and  shrubbery  which  we  encounter  in 
a  wild  pasture.  We  hear  a  great  deal  of  complaint  of 
old  roads,  because  they  are  crooked  and  narrow  and  he- 
cause  our  ancestors  did  not  plant  them  with  trees.  But 
trees  have  grown  up  spontaneously  in  many  places,  some- 


'-» 


52  OLD   ROADS. 


times  forming  knolls  and  coppices  of  inimitable  beauty ; 
and  often  an  irregular  row  of  trees  and  shrubs  of  different 
species  gives  intricacy  and  variety  to  the  scene. 

And  how  much  more  delightful  is  a  ride  or  a  stroll 
over  one  of  these  narrow  roads,  than  through  the  most 
highly  ornamented  suburbs  of  our  cities,  with  their 
avenues  of  more  convenient  width !  The  very  neglect 
to  which  they  have  been  left,  together  with  the  small 
amount  of  travelling  over  them,  has  caused  numberless 
beauties  to  spring  up  in  their  borders.  In  these  places 
Nature  seems  to  have  regained  her  sovereignty.  The 
squirrel  runs  freely  along  the  walls,  and  the  hare  may 
be  seen  peeping  timidly  out  of  her  burrow  at  their 
foundation,  or  leaping  across  the  road.  The  hazel- 
bushes  often  form  a  natural  hedgerow  for  whole  fur- 
longs ;  and  the  sparrow  and  the  robin,  and  even  some 
of  the  less  familiar  birds,  build  their  nests  in  the  green 
thickets  of  barberries,  viburnums,  cornels,  and  whortle- 
berry-bushes that  grow  in  irregular  rows  and  tufts  along 
the  rouoh  and  varied  embankments. 

Near  any  old  road  we  seldom  meet  an  artificial 
object  that  is  made  disagreeable  by  its  manifest  preten- 
sions. Little  one-story  cottages  are  frequent,  with  their 
green  slope  in  front,  and  a  maple  or  an  elm  that  affords 
them  shelter  and  shade.  The  old  stone-wall  festooned 
with  wild  grape-vines  comes  close  up  to  their  enclosures ; 
and  on  one  side  of  the  house  the  garden  is  seen  with  its 
unpretending  neatness,  its  few  morning-glories  trained 
up  against  the  walls,  its  beds  of  scarlet-runners  reared 
upon  trellises  formed  of  the  bended  branches  of  the 
white-birch  driven  into  the  soil,  its  few  rose-bushes 
of  those  beautiful  kinds  which  have  loncj  been  natural- 
ized  in  our  gardens.  When  I  behold  these  objects  in  their 
Arcadian  simplicity,  I  lose  all  faith  in  the  magnificent' 
splendors  of  princely  gardens.     I  feel  persuaded  that  in 


OLD   ROADS.  353 

these  humble  scenes  dwells  the  highest  kind  of  beauty, 
and  that  lie  is  a  happy  man  who  cares  for  no  more  em- 
bellishments than  his  own  hands  have  undesignedly 
added  to  the  simple  charms  of  Nature. 

Let  us,  therefore,  carefully  preserve  these  ancient 
winding  roads,  with  all  their  primitive  eccentricities. 
Let  no  modern  vandalism,  misnamed  public  economy, 
deprive  the  traveller  of  their  pleasant  advantages,  by 
stopping  up  their  beautiful  curves  and  building  shorter 
cuts  for  economizing  distance.  Who  that  is  journeying 
for  pleasure  is  not  delighted  with  them,  as  they  pass  on 
through  pleasant  valleys,  under  the  brows  of  hills,  along 
the  banks  of  green  rivers,  or  the  borders  of  silvery  lakes ; 
now  half-way  up  some  gentle  eminence  that  commands 
a  view  of  a  neighboring  village,  or  winding  round  a  hill, 
and  giving  us  a  new  view  of  the  scenes  we  have  just 
passed  ?  They  are  no  niggardly  economists  of  time  ;  but 
they  seem  as  if  purposely  contrived  to  present  to  the  eye 
of  the  traveller  everything  that  renders  the  country  de- 
sirable to  the  sight ;  now  leading  us  over  miles  bounded 
by  old  gray  stone-walls,  half  covered  with  sweet-briers, 
viburnums,  and  goldenrods ;  then  again  through  fragrant 
woods,  under  the  brink  of  precipices  nodding  with  wild 
shrubbery,  and  seeming  to  emulate  the  capricious  wind- 
ings of  the  stream  in  its  blue  course  among  the  hills. 
How  pleasant,  when  journeying,  to  enter  a  village  by  one 
of  these  gentle  sweeps  that  gives  us  several  glimpses  of 
its  scenes,  in  different  aspects,  before  our  arrival !  How 
much  indeed  would  be  done  for  us  by  Nature,  if  we  did 
not,  in  conformity  with  certain  notions  of  improvement, 
constantly  check  her  spontaneous  efforts  to  cover  the 
land  with  beauty! 


-w 


NOVEMBER. 

A  change  has  lately  come  over  the  face  of  nature ; 
the  bright  garniture  of  field  and  wood  has  faded ;  the 
leaves  have  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  the  sun  gleams 
brightly  through  the  naked  branches  of  the  trees  into 
the  late  dark  recesses  of  the  forest.  In  some  years  the 
bright  hues  of  autumn  remain  unseared  by  frost  until 
November  has  tarried  with  us  many  days.  It  is  then 
melancholy  to  observe  the  change  that  suddenly  takes 
place  in  the  aspect  of  the  woods  after  the  first  wintry 
night.  The  longer  this  fatal  blast  is  deferred,  the 
more  sudden  and  manifest  are  its  effects.  The  fields 
to-day  may  be  glowing  in  the  fairest  hues  of  autumnal 
splendor.  One  night  passes  away,  —  a  night  of  still, 
freezing  cold,  depositing  a  beautiful  frostwork  on  our 
windows,  —  and  lo  !  a  complete  robe  of  monotonous 
brown  covers  the  wide  forest  and  all  its  colors  have 
vanished.  After  this  frost  the  leaves  fall  rapidly  from 
the  trees,  and  the  first  vigorous  wind  will  nearly  disrobe 
them  of  their  foliage. 

This  change  is  usually  more  gradual.  Slight  frosts 
occur  one  after  another  during  many  successive  nights, 
each  adding  a  browner  tint  to  the  foliage  and  causing  the 
different  trees  to  shed  their  leaves  in  natural  succession. 
Though  November  is  the  time  of  the  general  fall  of  the 
leaf,  yet  many  trees  cast  off  their  vesture  in  October. 
But  the  flowering  season  closed  with  the  last  of  the 
month.  A  few  asters  are  still  seen  in  the  woods,  and 
here  and  there   on  the  green   southern  slopes    a   violet 


NOVEMBER.  355 

will  look  up  with  its  mild  Line  eye,  like  a  star  of 
promise,  to  remind  us  of  the  beauties  of  the  comin" 
spring.  There  is  a  melancholy  pleasure  attending  a 
ramble  at  this  time,  while  taking  note  of  the  changes 
of  the  year,  and  of  the  care  with  which  Nature  pro- 
vides for  the  preservation  of  her  charge  during  the 
coming  season  of  cold.  All  sounds  that  meet  the  ear 
are  in  harmony  with  our  feelings.  The  breezes  murmur 
with  a  plaintive  moan,  while  shaking  the  dropping  leaves 
from  the  trees,  as  if  they  felt  a  sympathy  with  the  gen- 
eral decay,  and  carefully  strew  them  over  the  beds  of  the 
flowers  to  afford  them  a  warm  covering  and  protection 
from  the  ungenial  winter.  The  sear  and  yellow  leaves 
eddying  with  the  fitful  breezes  till  up  the  hollows  in  the 
pastures  where  slumbering  lilies  and  violets  repose,  and 
gather  around  the  borders  of  the  woods,  where  the  ver- 
nal flowers  are  sleeping  and  require  their  warmth  and 
protection.  There  is  an  influence  breathing  from  all 
nature  in  the  autumn  that  leads  us  to  meditate  on  the 
charms  of  the  seasons  that  have  flown,  and  prepares  us 
by  the  regrets  thus  awakened  to  realize  their  full  worth, 
and  to  experience  the  greater  delight  when  we  meet  them 
once  more. 

There  are  rural  sounds  as  well  as  rural  sights  which 
are  characteristic  of  this  as  well  as  every  other  month 
of  the  year,  all  associated  with  the  beauties  and  bounties 
of  their  respective  seasons.  The  chirping  of  insects 
declines  during  October  and  dies  away  to  silence  before 
the  middle  of  the  present  month ;  and  then  do  the  voices 
of  the  winter  birds  become  more  audible.  Their  harsh 
unmusical  voices  harmonize  not  unpleasantly  with  the 
murmuring  of  wintry  winds  and  with  the  desolate  ap- 
pearance of  nature.  The  water  birds  assemble  in  the 
harbors  and  are  unusually  loquacious;  and  occasionally 
on  still  evenings  we  hear  the  cackling  flight  of  gee-1  as 


356  NOVEMBER. 


they  are  proceeding  aloft  to  the  places  of  their  hyemal 
abode.  These  different  sounds,  though  unmusical  and 
melancholy,  awaken  many  pleasant  recollections  of  the 
season,  and  always  attract  our  attention. 

But  silence  for  the  most  part  prevails  in  the  fields  and 
woods  so  lately  vocal  with  cheerful  notes.  The  birds 
that  long  since  discontinued  their  songs  have  forsaken 
our  territories,  and  but  few  are  either  heard  or  seen. 
The  grasshoppers  have  hung  their  harps  upon  the  brown 
sedges  and  are  buried  in  a  torpid  sleep.  The  butterflies 
also  have  perished  with  the  flowers,  and  the  whole  tribe 
of  sportive  insects  that  enlivened  the  prospect  with  their 
motions  have  gone  from  our  sight.  Few  sounds  are  heard 
on  still  days,  save  the  dropping  of  nuts,  the  rustling  of 
leaves,  and  the  careering  of  the  fitful  winds  that  often 
disturb  the  general  calm.  Beautiful  sights  and  sounds 
have  vanished  together,  and  the  rambler  who  goes  out  to 
greet  the  cheerful  objects  of  nature  finds  himself  alone, 
communing  only  with  silence  and  solitude. 

It  is  in  these  days  of  November  that  we  most  fully 
realize  how  much  of  the  pleasure  of  a  rural  excursion 
is  derived  from  the  melodies  that  greet  our  ears  during 
the  vocal  months  of  the  year.  Since  the  merry-making 
tenants  of  the  groves  have  left  them  to  inanimate 
sounds  Nature  seems  divested  of  life  and  personality. 
While  separated  from  all  sounds  of  rejoicing  and  ani- 
mation, we  seem  to  be  in  the  presence  of  friends  who 
are  silent  and  mourning  over  some  bereavement.  In 
the  vocal  season  the  merry  voices  of  birds  and  insects 
give  life  to  the  inanimate  objects  around  us,  and  Nature 
herself  seems  to  be  talking  with  us  in  our  solitary  but 
not  lonely  walk.  But  when  these  gay  and  social  crea- 
tures are  absent,  the  places  they  frequented  are  converted 
into  solitude.  No  cheerful  voices  are  speaking  to  us,  no 
bright  flowers  are  smiling  upon  us,  and  we  feel  like  one 


NOVEMBER.  3 


o 


who  is  left  alone  to  mourn  over  the  scenes  of  absent  joys 
and  departed  friends. 

But  the  silence  to  which  I  allude  is  chiefly  that  of  the 
singing-birds,  whose  voices  are  the  natural  language  of 
love  and  rejoicing.  There  are  still  many  sounds  which 
are  characteristic  of  the  month.  Hollow  winds  are  sigh- 
ing through  the  half-leafless  wood,  and  the  sharp  rustling 
of  dry  oak-leaves  is  heard  aloft  in  the  place  of  the  warb- 
ling of  birds  and  the  soft  whispering  of  zephyrs.  The 
winds  as  they  sweep  over  the  shrubbery  produce  a  shrill 
sound  that  chills  us  as  the  bleak  foreboding  of  winter. 
The  passing  breezes  have  lost  that  mellowness  of  tone 
that  comes  from  them  in  summer  while  floating  over  the 
tender  herbs  and  the  flexible  grain.  Every  sound  they 
make  is  sharper  whether  they  are  rustling  among  the  dry 
cornfields  or  whistling  among  the  naked  branches  of  the 
trees.  Since  the  forests  have  shed  their  leaves  the  voices 
of  the  winter  birds  are  heard  with  more  distinctness,  and 
the  echoes  are  repeated  with  a  greater  number  of  rever- 
berations among  the  rocks  and  hills. 

Our  rural  festivities  are  past,  the  harvest  is  gathered, 
and  all  hands  are  busy  preparing  for  the  comforts  of  the 
winter  fireside.  The  days  are  short,  and  the  sun  at  noon- 
day  looks  down  with  a  slanting  beam  and  diminished  fer- 
vor,  or  remains  behind  the  cloud  that  often  overshadows 
the  horizon.  Dark  clouds  of  ominous  forms  and  threaten- 
ing look  brood  sometimes  for  whole  days  over  the  sullen 
atmosphere,  through  which  the  beams  of  the  sun  will 
occasionally  peer,  as  if  to  bid  us  not  wholly  despair  of 
his  benignant  presence.  Every  object  in  the  rural  world 
tells  of  the  coming  of  snows  and  of  the  rapid  passing  of 
the  genial  days  of  autumn.  The  evergreens  are  tin'  only 
lively  objects  that  grace  the  landscape,  and  the  flowers 
lie  buried  under  the  faded  leaves  of  the  trees  that  lift 
up   their   branches   as   if  in   supplication   to  the  sk. 


358  NOVEMBER. 

The  spirit  of  desolation  sits  upon  the  hills;  and  in  her 
baleful  presence  the  northern  blasts  assemble  on  the 
plains,  and  the  wintry  frosts  gather  together  in  the  once 
smiling  valleys. 

Such  are  the  changes  of  the  seasons,  melancholy  em- 
blems of  the  vicissitudes  of  life.  Transient  is  the  period 
of  youth,  like  the  flowery  month  of  May,  and  rapidly,  like 
the  flowers  of  summer,  fade  all  the  joys  of  early  man- 
hood. Our  early  hopes  after  they  have  finished  their 
songs  of  promise  vanish  like  the  singing-birds,  and  the 
visions  of  our  youth  flit  away  like  the  insects  that  glitter 
for  a  few  brief  days  and  then  perish  forever.  Yet  as  the 
pleasant  things  of  one  month  are  followed  by  those 
equally  -delightful  in  the  next,  so  are  the  joys  of  youth 
that  perish  succeeded  by  the  riper  though  less  exhila- 
rating pleasures  of  manhood.  These  in  turn  pass  away  to 
be  replaced  by  the  tranquil  and  sober  comforts  of  age,  as 
the  autumnal  harvest  crowns  the  frailer  products  of  sum- 
mer. Joys  are  constantly  alternating  with  sorrows,  and 
the  regrets  we  pour  over  our  bereavements  are  softened 
and  subdued  by  the  new  bounties  and  blessings  of  the 
present  time.  While  we  are  lamenting  the  departure  of 
one  beautiful  month,  another  no  less  delightful  has  al- 
ready arrived ;  and  the  winters  of  our  sorrow  are  always 
succeeded  by  vernal  periods  of  happiness. 

But  to  him  who  contemplates  the  works  of  Nature  with 
a  philosophic  view,  do  these  vicissitudes  yield  sources  of 
pleasure,  derived  from  watching  the  growth  of  the  fields 
through  all  its  gradations,  from  the  bud  to  the  flower  and 
the  leaf,  and  from  the  seedling  to  the  perfect  plant.  The 
budding  of  trees,  the  gradual  expansion  of  their  leaves, 
and  all  the  changes  through  which  they  pass  until  their 
final  decay,  present  unfailing  topics  of  curious  and  pleas- 
ing meditation.  In  every  change  that  happens,  he  dis- 
covers a  new  train  of  reflections  on  the  grandeur  and 


NOVEMBER.  359 

harmony  of  Nature's  works.  Even  the  melancholy  in- 
spired by  the  autumn  differs  from  despondency,  and 
partakes  of  the  character  of  pleasure.  While  lamenting 
the  departure  of  flowers  and  the  coming  of  snows,  we 
are  conscious  that  there  would  be  a  monotony  in  a  per- 
petual summer,  which  would  soon  be  followed  by  indiffer- 
ence; and  amidst  the  beauties  and  blessings  of  nature, 
our  hearts  would  be  cloyed  with  luxury  and  sighiu  ' 
after  unattainable  happiness. 


O 


TESTIMONY  FOR  THE  BIEDS. 

A  farmer's  boy  in  Ohio,  observing  a  small  flock  of 
quails  in  his  father's  cornfield,  resolved  to  watch  their 
motions.  They  pursued  a  regular  course  in  their  forag- 
ing, beginning  on  one  side  of  the  field,  taking  about  five 
rows  and  following  them  uniformly  to  the  opposite  end. 
Returning  in  the  same  manner  over  the  next  five  rows, 
they  continued  this  course  until  they  had  explored  the 
greater  part  of  the  field.  The  lad,  suspecting  them  of 
pulling  up  the  corn,  shot  one  of  them  and  examined  the 
ground.  In  the  whole  space  over  which  they  had  trav- 
elled he  found  but  one  stalk  of  corn  disturbed.  This 
was  nearly  scratched  out  of  the  ground,  but  the  kernel 
still  adhered  to  it.  In  the  craw  of  the  quail  he  found 
one  cutworm,  twenty-one  striped  vine-bugs,  and  one  hun- 
dred chinch-bugs,  but  not  a  single  kernel  of  corn.  As 
the  quail  is  a  granivorous  bird  in  winter,  this  fact  proves 
that  even  those  birds  that  are  able  to  subsist  upon  seeds 
prefer  insects  and  grubs  when  they  have  their  choice. 

Mr.  Roberts,  a  farmer  who  resided  in  Colesville,  Ohio, 
was  invited  by  a  neighbor  to  assist  him  in  killing  some 
yellow-birds  which,  as  he  thought,  were  destroying  his 
wheat.  Mr.  Roberts,  not  believing  the  birds  guilty  of 
any  such  mischief,  was  inclined  to  protect  them.  To 
satisfy  his  curiosity,  however,  he  killed  one  of  the  yellow- 
birds,  and  found,  upon  opening  its  crop,  that  instead  of 
wheat  the  bird  had  devoured  the  weevil,  the  greatest  de- 
stroyer of  wheat.  He  found  in  the  bird's  crop  as  many 
as  two  hundred  weevils  and  but  four  grains  of  wheat; 


TESTIMONY   FOR  THE  BIRDS.  3G1 

and  as  each  of  those  grains  contained  a  weevil,  he  be- 
lieved they  were  eaten  for  the  sake  of  the  insect  within 
them.  The  jealousy  of  the  Ohio  farmers  had  prompted 
them  in  this  case  to  destroy  a  family  of  birds,  at  the  very 
time  when  they  were  performing  an  incalculable  amount 
of  benefit  to  agriculture. 

The  Southern  farmers  suspected  the  kildeer,  a  species 
of  plover,  of  destroying  young  turnips.  A  writer  in  the 
"  Southern  Planter,"  alluding  to  this  notion,  declares  the 
kildeer  to  be  the  true  guardian  of  the  turnip  crop;  and 
to  prove  his  assertion  he  dissected  a  number  of  them. 
Their  crops  were  found  to  contain  no  vegetable  substance. 
Nothing  was  found  in  them  save  the  little  bug  that  is  a 
well-known  destroyer  of  turnips  and  tobacco-plants. 
They  were  little  hopping  beetles,  and  were  rapidly  in- 
creasing, because  the  kildeers,  their  natural  enemies,  had 
been  nearly  exterminated.  "  I  seldom  nowadays,"  lie  says, 
"hear  the  kildeers  voice.  Let  no  man  henceforth  kill 
one  except  to  convince  himself  and  others  that  they  eat 
no  young  turnips.  The  sacrifice  of  one,  producing  such 
conviction,  may  save  hundreds  of  his  brethren." 

Insects  of  various  kinds,  in  the  year  182G,  had  become 
so  generally  destructive  as  to  cause  apprehensions  for  the 
safety  of  all  products  of  the  field.  A  correspondent  of 
the  "Massachusetts  Yeoman"  expressed  his  belief  that 
this  unusual  number  of  injurious  insects  was  caused  by 
the  scarcity  of  birds.  His  neighbors  were  astonished  that 
everything  in  his  garden  should  be  so  thrifty,  while  their 
plants  were  cut  down  and  destroyed  before  they  had  ac- 
quired any  important  growth.  "I  have  no  concern  about 
it,"  he  replied;  "my  robins  see  to  that,  I  preserve  them 
from  their  enemies,  and  they  preserve  my  garden  from 
worms  and  insects.  In  one  corner  of  my  garden  near 
my  dwelling  is  a  tree  in  which  a  couple  of  these  friends 
of  man  have  reared  their  families   fur  three  successive 

16 


3G2  TESTIMONY  FOR  THE   BIRDS. 

years.  There  lias  ever  been  a  harmony  between  my  birds 
and  me."  He  protected  all  the  birds  that  frequented  his 
grounds,  and  they  devoured  the  insects  that  infested 
them.  Grasshoppers,  he  said,  in  the  early  stage  of  their 
existence  are  not  bigger  than  flies.  Ten  or  twelve  birds 
would  clear  a  whole  field  of  them  before  they  could  do 
any  injury  to  the  grass-crop. 

Small  owls  are  useful  as  destroyers  of  the  larger  moths 
and  nocturnal  insects,  and  they  are  excellent  mousers. 
Hon.  Eichard  Peters,  in  "  The  Memoirs  of  the  Philadel- 
phia Society  for  Promoting  Agriculture,"  says  that  all 
owls  are  destroyers  of  mice.  A  pine-tree  near  his  house 
afforded  a  resort  to  about  a  dozen  of  these  birds  during 
the  winter.  Prom  witnessing  their  operations,  he  con- 
cluded that  a  few  of  them,  if  harbored  near,  would  clear 
the  fields,  barns,  and  out-houses  of  vermin.  He  says  it 
is  only  the  larger  species  that  will  attack  poultry  or  do 
any  other  damage. 

The  inhabitants  of  a  new  country,  like  America,  are  not 
so  well  informed  of  the  evils  that  follow  the  destruction 
of  birds  as  those  of  old  countries,  who  have  learned  from 
the  experience  of  many  generations  the  indispensable 
character  of  their  services.  Vincent  Kollar  says,  if  we 
would  prevent  the  increase  of  the  cockchafer,  we  must 
spare  the  birds  that  feed  upon  its  larva.  Among  these 
he  thinks  the  crow  deserves  the  first  place.  The  bird 
follows  the  plough  to  obtain  the  larva  of  this  and  other 
insects  as  they  are  turned  out  by  the  furrows.  In  gar- 
dens he  walks  among  the  plants,  and  wherever  one  has 
begun  to  wither  he  plunges  his  bill  into  the  ground  and 
draws  out  the  grub.  Crows  do  the  same  in  the  meadows, 
which  are  sometimes  nearly  covered  with  them.  The 
American  crow  has  the  same  habits ;  but  he  does  not  fol- 
low the  plough,  from  his  fear  of  the  farmer's  gun.  Our 
people  will  not  believe  that  the  crow  does  anything  but 


TESTIMONY   FOR   THE   BIRDS.  3' 

mischief.  But  John  Randolph  was  so  well  convinced  of 
the  usefulness  of  crows,  that  he  would  not  allow  one  to 
be  shot  upon  his  farm.  To  prevent  their  depredations  lie 
fed  them  liberally  wdien  his  young  corn  was  liable  to  be 
injured  by  them. 

Mr.  E.  S.  Samuels,  while  admitting  the  important  ser- 
vices rendered  by  the  crow  as  a  destroyer  of  insects, 
larva,  and  vermin,  thinks  it  counterbalances  all  its  ser- 
vices by  its  habit  of  devouring  young  birds  wrhile  in  their 
nest,  of  which  it  destroys  an  immense  number.  His 
reasoning  is  logical,  and  I  have  no  information  that 
would  lead  me  to  doubt  his  facts.  It  seems  probable, 
however,  that  the  crow  would  find  its  time  more  profita- 
bly spent  in  exploring  the  fields  for  grubs  and  worms  than 
in  hunting  for  birds'-nests. 

Nuttall,  after  describing  the  mischief  done  to  the  corn- 
crop  by  immense  assemblages  of  crow-blackbirds  in  the 
Southern  States  and  the  hatred  borne  them  by  the  far- 
mers on  that  account,  remarks  that  on  their  arrival  their 
food  for  a  long  time  consists  wholly  of  those  insects 
which  are  the  greatest  pests  to  the  farmer.  He  says  they 
familiarly  follow  the  plough,  and  take  all  the  grubs  and 
other  noxious  vermin  as  they  appear,  scratching  the  loose 
soil,  that  none  may  escape.  He  affirms  that  up  to  the 
time  of  the  harvest  he  has  found  invariably,  upon  dissec- 
tion, that  their  food  consists  of  larva,  caterpillars,  mot  lis, 
and  beetles,  in  such  immense  quantities  that  if  they  had 
lived  they  would  have  destroyed  the  whole  crop. 


THE  WINTER  BIRDS. 

We  are  prone  to  set  an  extraordinary  value  upon  all 
those  pleasures  that  arrive  in  a  season  when  they  are  few 
and  unexpected.  Hence  the  peculiar  charms  of  the  early 
flowers  of  spring,  and  of  those,  equally  delightful,  that 
come  up  to  cheer  the  short  and  melancholy  days  of 
November.  The  winter  birds,  though  they  do  not  sing, 
are  interesting  on  account  of  the  season.  The  Chicka- 
dees  and  Speckled  Woodpeckers,  that  tarry  with  us  in 
midwinter  and  make  the  still,  cold  days  lively  and  cheer- 
ful by  their  merry  voices,  are  in  animated  nature  what 
flowers  would  be  if  we  saw  them  wreathing  their  forms 
about  the  leafless  trees.  Nature  does  not  permit  at  any 
season  an  entire  dearth  of  those  sources  of  enjoyment 
that  spring  from  observation  of  the  external  world.  As 
there  are  evergreen  mosses  and  ferns  that  supply  in  win- 
ter the  places  of  the  absent  flowers,  so  there  are  chattering 
birds  that  linger  in  the  wintry  woods ;  and  Nature  has 
multiplied  the  echoes  at  this  time,  that  their  few  and 
feeble  voices  may  be  repeated  by  lively  reverberations 
among  the  hills. 

To  those  who  look  upon  the  earth  with  the  feelings  of 
a  poet  or  a  painter,  I  need  not  speak  of  the  value  of  the 
winter  birds  as  enliveners  of  the  landscape.  Any  cir- 
cumstance connected  with  natural  scenery  that  exercises 
our  feelings  of  benevolence  adds  to  the  picturesque 
charms  of  a  prospect.  No  man  can  see  a  little  bird  or 
quadruped  at  this  time  without  feeling  a  lively  interest 
in  its  welfare.     The  sight  of  a  flock  of  Snow-Buntings, 


- 


. 


■ 


' 


■ 


THE   WINTER   BIRDS.  3G5 

descending  like  a  shower  of  meteors  upon  a  field  of  ,Lr: 
and  eagerly  devouring' the  seeds  contained  in  the  droop- 
ing panicles  that  extend  above  the  snow-drifts;  of  a 
company  of  Crows,  rejoicing  with  noisy  sociability  over 
some  newly  discovered  feast  in  the  pine-wood  ;  of  the 
parti-colored  "Woodpeckers  winding  round  the  trees  and 
hammering  upon  their  trunks, — all  these  and  many  other 
sights  and  sounds  are  associated  with  our  ideas  of  the 
happiness  of  these  creatures ;  and  while  our  benevolent 
feelings  are  thus  agreeably  exercised,  the  objects  that 
cause  our  emotions  add  a  positive  charm  to  the  dreary 
aspects  of  winter.  These  reflections  have  led  me  to  re- 
gard the  birds  and  other  interesting  animals  as  having 
a  value  to  mankind  not  to  be  estimated  in  dollars  and 
cents,  and  which  is  entirely  independent  of  any  services 
they  may  render  the  farmer  or  the  orchardist  by  pre- 
venting the  over-multiplication  of  noxious  insects. 

The  greater  number  of  small  birds  that  remain  in 
northern  latitudes  during  winter,  except  the  Woodpeck- 
ers, are  such  as  live  chiefly  upon  seeds.  Those  insectivo- 
rous species  that  gather  their  food  chiefly  from  the  ground, 
like  the  Thrushes  and  the  Blackbirds,  are  obliged  to  mi- 
grate or  starve.  Thus  the  common  Robins  are  almost  ex- 
clusively insect-feeders,  using  fruit,  that  serves  them  rather 
as  dessert  than  substantial  fare.  A  bird  that  never  de- 
vours seeds  or  grain  or  any  farinaceous  food,  depending 
on  insects  and  grubs  that  may  be  gathered  from  the  sur- 
face of  the  ground,  cannot  subsist  in  our  latitude  save  in 
mild  and  open  winters.  During  such  favorable  seasons 
Eobins  in  small  parties  are  often  seen  collecting  their 
fare  of  dormant  insects  from  the  open  ground.  The 
Robin,  a  bird  that  should  hardly  be  called  migratory, 
never  proceeds  any  farther  south  than  is  necessary  to 
keep  him  from  starvation.  Robins  perform  their  migra- 
tions only  as  they  are  driven  by  the  snow.     If  on  any 


366  THE   WINTER   BIRDS. 

years,  as  sometimes  happens,  a  large  quantity  of  snow 
should  cover  the  territory  of  the  Middle  States  as  early 
as  the  first  of  November,  while  north  of  them  the  ground 
remained  uncovered,  the  Eobins  would  be  retarded  in  their 
journey,  which  is  not  a  continued  migration,  and  tarry 
with  us  in  unusual  numbers.  A  great  many  of  them 
would  perish  with  hunger  or  be  reduced  to  the  necessity 
of  feeding  on  the  berries  of  the  juniper  and  viburnum,  if 
they  should  be  overtaken  by  snow  covering  a  wide  sur- 
face that  cuts  off  their  supplies  of  dormant  insects. 

The  Quail  is  not  so  liable  to  be  starved,  because,  like 
the  common  domestic  hen,  it  is  omnivorous.  Quails  may 
be  kept  through  the  winter  if  fed  exclusively  on  grain. 
Hence,  if  it  were  not  for  the  persecution  they  suffer  from 
mankind,  they  would  be  common  residents  with  us  in 
winter,  keeping  themselves  under  the  protection  of  sheds 
and  border  shrubbery  and  gleaning  their  subsistence  from 
cornfields,  and  often  associating  with  the  poultry  in  the 
farm-yard.  If  they  had  been  encouraged  by  man  in  a 
state  of  half-domestication,  either  for  the  use  of  their  flesh 
or  as  consumers  of  grubs  and  insects,  they  might  still 
have  been  common.  Instead  of  being  buried  in  snow  in 
the  woods,  they  would  have  crept  into  our  barns  and 
found  safety  in  the  hospitality  of  man,  and  would  have 
rewarded  his  kindness  by  their  invaluable  services  upon 
the  farm.  But  man  is  only  a  half-reasoning  animal.  The 
blood  of  the  ape  still  courses  in  his  veins,  rendering  him 
incapable  of  understanding  the  value  of  thousands  of 
creatures  which  he  destroys. 

The  Woodpeckers  and  their  allied  families,  though  in- 
sectivorous, are  not  often  distressed  by  the  winter.  Gath- 
ering all  their  food,  consisting  of  larva  and  dormant  in- 
sects, from  the  bark  and  wood  of  trees,  the  snow  cannot 
conceal  it  for  any  perilous  length  of  time,  and  only  a 
coating  of  ice,  that  seldom  outlasts  more  than  a  day  or 


THE   WINTER   BIRDS.  3G7 

two,  and  covers  only  one  side  of  a  branch,  can  cause  them 
much  trouble.  The  quantity  of  their  insect  food  is  less 
than  in  summer,  but  the  birds  that  winter  here  have 
about  as  much  of  it,  because  other  species  are  diminished 
that  divide  with  them  this  spoil  in  summer.  Hence, 
Woodpeckers,  Tomtits,  and  Creepers  are  not  obliged  to 
migrate.  They  simply  scatter  more  widely  over  the  coun- 
try, instead  of  remaining  in  the  woods,  and  thus  accom- 
modate themselves  to  the  more  limited  supply  of  food  in 
any  given  space.  The  Swallows  and  Flycatchers,  that 
take  their  food  in  the  air,  are  the  first  to  migrate,  because 
the  aerial  insects  are  vastly  and  suddenly  diminished  by 
the  early  frosts  of  autumn. 

It  is  not  often  that  we  are  led  to  reflect  upon  the  ex- 
treme loneliness  that  would  prevail  in  solitary  places  in 
winter,  were  all  the  birds  to  migrate  at  this  season  to  a 
warmer  climate,  or  to  sink  into  a  torpid  state  like  frogs 
and  dormice  and  tardy  families  of  Swallows.  But  Nature, 
to  preserve  the  cheerfulness  of  this  season,  has  endowed 
certain  birds  with  power  to  endure  the  severest  cold  and 
with  the  faculty  of  providing  for  their  wants  at  a  time 
when  it  would  seem  that  there  was  not  food  enough  in 
the  hidden  stores  of  the  season  to  preserve  them  from 
starvation.  The  woodman,  however  insensible  he  may  be 
to  the  charms  of  all  such  objects,  is  gladdened  and  en- 
couraged in  his  toils  by  the  sight  of  these  lively  creatures, 
some  of  which,  like  the  Jay  and  the  Woodpecker,  are 
adorned  with  the  most  beautiful  plumage,  and  are  all 
pleasantly  garrulous,  filling  the  otherwise  silent  woods 
with  frequent  and  vociferous  merriment. 

In  my  early  days,  for  the  supposed  benefit  of  my  health, 
I  passed  a  winter  in  Tennessee,  and,  being  unoccupied, 
except  with  my  studies,  I  made  almost  daily  journeys 
into  the  woods  a  few  miles  from  the  city  of  Nashville. 
It  was  at  this  season  that  I  experienced  the  full  power 


368  THE  WINTER   BIRDS. 

of  the  winter  birds  to  give  life  and  beauty  to  the  faded 
scenes  of  nature.  Though  not  one  was  heard  to  sing, 
they  seemed  as  active  and  as  full  of  merriment  as  in  the 
early  summer.  The  most  attractive  birds  on  this  occa- 
sion were  the  Woodpeckers,  of  which  several  species  were 
very  numerous.  Conspicuous  among  them  was  the  Car- 
penter Bird,  or  Pileated  Woodpecker,  —  a  bird  with  rusty 
black  plumage,  a  red  crest  and  mustaches,  and  a  white 
stripe  on  each  side  of  the  neck;  one  of  the  largest  of 
the  family.  His  loud  croaking  might  be  heard  at  any 
time  in  the  deep  woods,  and  his  great  size  and  his  fre- 
quent hammering  upon  the  resounding  boles  of  decayed 
trees  were  very  attractive. 

A  more  beautiful  but  smaller  species  was  the  Eecl- 
headed  Woodpecker,  with  head  and  neck  and  throat  of 
crimson,  and  other  parts  of  his  plumage  variously  marked 
with  white  and  changeable  blue.  This  species,  though 
seldom  seen  in  Eastern  Massachusetts,  is  a  common  resi- 
dent in  this  latitude  west  of  the  Green  Mountain  range. 
The  birds  of  this  species  were  very  numerous,  and  during 
my  rambles  the  woods  were  constantly  flashing  with  their 
bright  colors  as  they  flitted  among  the  trees.  They  were 
sometimes  joined  by  the  Eedbreasted  Woodpecker,  hardly 
less  beautiful. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  charm  which  these  birds 
gave  to  the  otherwise  solitary  woods.  I  would  sometimes 
remain  a  whole  day  there,  watching  the  manners  of  these 
and  hundreds  of  other  beautiful  birds,  that  were  strangers 
to  me,  taking  my  dinner  with  the  squirrels,  upon  the 
fruit  of  the  black  walnut-tree,  which  was  strewn  over 
all  the  ground.  The  loud  croaking  of  the  Log-cock,  the 
cackling  screams  of  the  Red-headed  Woodpecker,  and  the 
solemn  tolling  of  the  Eedbreast,  blended  with  the  occa- 
sional cooing  of  Turtle-Doves,  made  a  sylvan  entertain- 
ment that  rendered  my  winter  rambles  at  this  period  and 


THE  WINTER   BIRDS. 

in  these  woods  as  interesting  as  any  I  ever  pursued  in 
summer  or  autumn. 

In  our  latitude,  after  the  first  flight  of  snow  has  cov- 
ered the  ground,  many  winter  birds,  pressed  by  hunger, 
are  compelled  to  make  extensive  forages  in  quest  of  food 
Our  attention  is  especially  drawn  toward  them  at  such 
times,  and  many  parties  of  them  will  visit  our  neighbor- 
hood in  the  course  of  the  day,  while,  if  no  snow  had 
fallen,  they  would  have  confined  themselves  to  a  more 
limited  rancre.  One  of  the  most  attractive  sights  on  such 
occasions  is  caused  by  flocks  of  Snow-Buntings  usually 
assembled  in  great  numbers.  They  are  chiefly  seen  when 
the  snow  compels  them  to  fly  from  place  to  place  in  qii 
of  food.  They  are  not  birds  of  ill-omen,  as  might  be  in- 
ferred from  the  name  of  bad-weather  birds  given  them  in 
Sweden ;  for  they  do  not  appear  until  the  storm  is  over. 

Few  sights  are  more  picturesque  than  these  flocks  of 
Snow-Buntings,  whirling  with  the  subsiding  winds  and 
moving  as  if  they  were  guided  by  an  eddying  breeze,  now- 
half  concealed  by  the  direction  in  which  they  meet  the 
rays  of  the  sun,  then  suddenly  flashing  as  with  a  simul- 
taneous turn  they  present  the  under  white  side  of  their 
wings  to  the  light  of  day.  The  power  of  these  diminutive 
creatures  to  endure  the  cold  of  winter  and  to  contend 
with  the  storm  attaches  to  their  appearance  a  char- 
acter allied  to  sublimity.  I  cannot  look  upon  them, 
therefore,  in  any  other  view  than  as  important  parts  in 
that  ever-changing  picture  of  light,  motion,  and  beauty 
with  which  Nature  benevolently  consoles  us  for  those 
evils  assigned  by  fate  to  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth. 

The  common  Snowbirds,  of  a  bluish-slate   color,  are 
not  so  often  seen  in  large  compact  flocks.     They  go  usu- 
ally in  scattered  parties,  and  are  seen  in  the  southern  pai 
of  New  England  only  in  winter  and  early  spring,  arriving 
from  the  northern  regions  late  in  the  autumn.     Wilson 

16*  x 


370  THE  WINTER   BIRDS. 

# 

considers  them  more  numerous  than  any  other  species 
on  the  American  continent,  swarming  in  multitudes  over 
all  the  country  down  to  the  borders  of  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico.  It  is  a  marvel  to  him,  therefore,  that  no  part 
of  these  immense  hosts  should  remain  in  the  summer  to 
breed  at  a  latitude  below  that  of  45°  or  50°,  except  in 
the  high  mountain-ranges.  They  have  many  of  the  habits 
of  the  common  Hairbird,  which  is  by  some  of  our  coun- 
trymen supposed  to  be  the  same  species,  changed  in  ap- 
pearance by  the  winter.  Like  the  Hairbird,  they  assemble 
round  our  houses  and  barns,  picking  up  seeds  or  crumbs 
of  bread  and  other  fragments  of  food. 

They  differ  entirely  from  the  Buntings,  which,  for  dis- 
tinction, are  called  White  Snowbirds.  They  are  quite 
equal  to  them  in  their  power  of  enduring  the  cold  and 
in  sustaining  the  force  of  a  tempest.  During  a  snow- 
storm they  may  often  be  seen  sporting  as  it  were  in  the 
very  whirlpool  of  driving  snows,  and  alighting  upon  the 
tall  weeds  and  sedges,  and  eagerly  gathering  their  pro- 
ducts. The  Hempbird  will  sometimes  join  their  parties, 
and  his  cheerful  and  well-known  twitter  may  be  heard, 
as  he  hurriedly  flits  from  one  bush  to  another,  hunting 
for  the  seeds  of  goldenrods  and  asters.  The  cause  of  the 
migration  of  these  birds  from  their  native  north  is  not 
probably  the  severe  cold  of  those  regions,  but  the  deep 
snows  that  bury  up  their  cereal  stores  at  an  early  season. 
They  live  upon  seeds;  hence  their  forages  are  made  chiefly 
in  tilled  lands,  where  weeds  afford  them  an  abundant  har- 
vest. The  negligence  of  the  tiller  of  the  soil  is  therefore 
a  great  gain  to  the  small  birds,  by  leaving  a  supply  of 
seeds  in  the  annual  grasses  that  grow  thriftily  with  his 
crops. 

Early  in  the  spring  the  little  Blue  Snowbirds  again 
appear,  but  are  not  so  familiar  as  in  the  beginning  of 
winter.     They  are  often  seen  in  a  thicket  in  companies, 


THE   WINTER   BIRDS.  37] 

warbling  softly  and  melodiously.     Nuttall  says  their  son<* 
resembles  that  of  the  European  Robin  Redbreast.     He 

also  remarks  that  the  males  have  severe  contests  when 
they  are  choosing  their  mates. 

THE   CHICKADEE. 

There  are  but  few  persons  who  have  spent  their  winti 
in  the  country,  who  would  not  agree  with  me  that  to  ll 
lively  notes  of  the  Chickadee  we  are  indebted  for  a  great 
part  of  the  cheerfulness  that  attends  a  winter's  walk. 
His  notes  are  not  a  song;  but  there  is  a  liveliness  in 
their  sound,  uttered  most  frequently  on  a  pleasant 
winter's  day,  causing  them  to  be  associated  with  all 
agreeable  changes  of  the  weather.  The  Chickadees  are 
not  seen,  like  Snowbirds,  most  numerously  after  a  fall  of 
snow.  Their  habits  are  nearly  the  same  in  all  weathers, 
except  that  they  are  more  prone  to  be  noisy  and  loqua- 
cious on  pleasant,  sunny  days. 

The  sounds  from  which  the  Chickadee  has  derived  its 
name  appear  to  be  its  call-notes,  like  the  gobbling  of  a 
turkey,  and  enable  the  birds  while  scattered  singly  over 
the  forest  to  signalize  their  presence  to  others  of  their 
own  species.  It  maybe  observed  that  when  the  call-note 
is  rapidly  repeated,  a  multitude  of  them  will  immediately 
assemble  near  the  place  where  the  alarm  was  given. 
When  no  alarm  is  intended  to  be  given,  the  bird  utters 
these  notes  but  seldom,  and  chiefly  as  it  passes  from  one 
tree  to  another.  It  is  probably  accustomed  to  hearing 
a  response,  and  if  one  is  not  soon  heard  it  will  repeat 
the  call  until  it  is  answered.  For  as  these  birds  do  ] 
forage  the  woods  in  flocks,  this  continued  hailing  is  car- 
ried  on  between  them,  to  satisfy  their  desiri i  nol  to  remain 
entirely  alone.  A  similar  conversation  passes  between  a 
flock  of  chickens  when  scattered  over  a  field  and  out  of 


^372  THE   WINTER   BIRDS. 

sight  of  one  another.  One,  on  finding  itself  alone,  will 
leave  its  quest  for  food  and  chirp  until  it  hears  a  re- 
sponse, when  it  resumes  its  feeding.  The  call-notes  of 
this  species  are  very  lively,  with  a  mixture  of  queru- 
lousness  in  their  tone  which  is  not  unpleasant. 

The  Chickadee  is  the  smallest  of  our  winter  birds.  He 
is  a  permanent  resident,  and  everybody  knows  him.  He  is 
a  lively  chatterer  and  an  agreeable  companion ;  and  as  he 
never  tarries  long  in  one  place,  he  does  not  tire  us  with 
his  garrulity.  He  is  our  attendant  on  all  our  pleasant 
winter  walks,  in  the  orchard  and  the  wood,  in  the  garden 
and  by  the  roadside.  We  have  seen  him  on  still  winter 
days  flitting  from  tree  to  tree,  with  the  liveliest  motions 
and  the  most  engaging  attitudes,  examining  every  twig 
and  branch,  and  after  a  few  sprightly  notes  hopping  to 
another  tree,  to  pass  through  the  same  manoeuvres.  Even 
those  who  are  confined  to  the  house  are  not  excluded 
from  a  sight  of  these  birds.  We  cannot  open  a  window 
on  a  bright  winter's  morning  without  a  greeting  from  one 
of  them  on  the  nearest  tree. 

Beside  the  note  from  which  the  Chickadee  derives  his 
name,  he  utters  occasionally  two  very  plaintive  notes, 
which  are  separated  by  a  true  musical  interval,  making 
a  third  on  the  descending  scale. 


They  slightly  resemble  those  of  the  Pewee,  and  are  often 
mistaken  for  them;  but  they  are  not  drawling  or  mel- 
ancholy, and  do  not  slide  from  one  note  to  another 
without  an  interval.  I  do  not  know  the  circumstances 
that  prompt  the  bird  to  repeat  this  plaintive  strain; 
but  it  is  uttered  both  in  summer  and  winter.  It  has, 
therefore,  no  connection  with  love  or  the  care  of  the 


THE   WINTER   BIRDS.  373 

offspring.     Indeed,  there  is  such  a  variety  in   the   notes 
uttered  at  different  times  by  this  bird,  that  if  they  w 
repeated  in  uninterrupted  succession,  they  Mould   form 
one  of  the  most  agreeable  of  woodland  melodies. 

The  Chickadee  is  not  a  singing-bird.  He  utters  his 
usual  notes  at  all  times  of  the  year;  hut  in  the  early 
part  of  summer  he  is  addicted  to  a  low  and  pleasant  kind 
of  warbling,  considerably  varied  and  wanting  only  more 
loudness  and  precision  to  entitle  him  to  rank  among  the 
singing-birds.  This  warbling  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  solilo- 
quizing for  his  own  amusement.  If  it  were  uttered  by 
the  young  birds  only,  we  might  suppose  them  to  be  tak- 
ing lessons  in  music  and  that  this  was  one  of  their  first 
attempts.  I  have  heard  a  Golden  liobin  occasionally 
warbling  in  a  similar  manner. 


THE  DOWNY  WOODPECKER. 

In  company  with  the  Chickadees,  we  often  see  two 
speckled  Woodpeckers,  differing  apparently  only  in  size, 
each  having  a  small  red  crest.  The  smaller  of  the  two  Is 
the  Downy  Woodpecker.  The  birds  of  this  species  are 
called  Sap-suckers,  from  their  habit  of  making  perfora- 
tions in  the  sound  branches  of  trees,  through  the  bark, 
without  penetrating  the  wood,  as  if  for  the  purpose  of 
obtaining  the  sap.  These  perforations  are  often  in  two 
or  three  parallel  circles  around  the  branch,  very  cl 
together,  and  it  is  probable  that  they  follow  the  path 
of  a  grub  that  is  concealed  under  the  bark.  Wilson 
examined  many  trees  that  were  perforated  in  this  man- 
ner, and  saw  evidence  that  they  suffered  no  harm  from  it. 
But  why  the  bird  should  be  so  precise  and  formal  in  his 
markings  of  the  tree  is  a  mystery  not  yet  satisfactorily 
explained. 

The  Woodpecker,  however,  takes  a  great  part  of  his 


374  THE   WINTER   BIRDS. 

food  from  the  inside  of  the  wood  or  bark  of  the  tree. 
Hence  he  is  not  so  diligent  in  his  examination  of  the 
outside  of  the  branch  as  the  Chickadee.  He  examines 
those  parts  only  where  he  hears  the  scratching  or  gnawing 
of  the  <>Tiib  that  is  concealed  beneath  the  surface,  bores 
the  wood  to  obtain  it,  and  then  flies  off.  The  Chickadee 
looks  for  insects  on  or  near  the  surface,  and  does  not  con- 
fine his  search  to  trees.  He  examines  fences,  the  under 
parts  of  the  eaves  of  houses,  and  the  wood-pile,  and  de- 
stroys in  the  course  of  his  foraging  many  an  embryo 
moth  or  butterfly  which  would  become  the  parent  of 
noxious  larva.  The  Woodpecker  is  often  represented  as 
the  emblem  of  industry  ;  but  the  Chickadee  is  more 
truly  emblematical  of  this  virtue,  and  the  Woodpecker 
of  perseverance,  as  he  never  tires  when  drilling  into  the 
wood  of  a  tree  in  quest  of  his  prey. 

THE    HAIRY   WOODPECKER. 

The  Hairy  Woodpecker  is  larger  than  the  preceding 
species,  and  their  difference  in  size  is  almost  the  only 
notable  distinction.  It  derives  its  name  from  the  resem- 
blance of  some  of  the  feathers  on  its  back  to  hairs.  This 
Woodpecker  is  not  so  often  seen  in  summer  as  the  smaller 
species,  but  both  are  about  equally  noticeable  in  winter. 
The  nest  is  made  in  holes  excavated  by  its  own  labor  for 
this  purpose  in  the  trunk  or  branches  of  old  trees.  The 
bird  commonly  selects  a  dried  and  partially  decayed  limb, 
because  it  is  more  easily  excavated  after  the  hole  is 
drilled  through  the  outside. 


THE   RED-HEADED   WOODPECKER. 

This  is  the  most  beautiful  of   our  Woodpeckers  and 
nearlv  as  lame  as  a  Robin.     It  is  not  often  seen  in  the 


THE    WINTER    BIRDS.  375 

New  England  States,  but  often  enough  to  be  an  acquaint- 
ance of  the  generality  of  observers.  This  bird,  Like  the 
Robin,  has  gained  the  enmity  of  that  conscientious 
of  people  who  cut  down  their  fruit-trees  that  the  boys 
may  not  have  the  temptation  set  before  them  to  break 
the  Eighth  Commandment.  The  Red-headed  Wood- 
pecker seems  to  be  in  this  respect  mure  mischievous 
even  than  the  Robin,  for  he  not  only  takes  cherries,  but 
carries  off  the  finest  apples  and  feeds  upon  the  1ml inn- 
corn  when  in  the  milk.  The  question  is  often  raised, 
therefore,  with  regard  to  the  usefulness  of  this  bird;  and 
it  will  be  answered  according  as  the  person  interro- 
gated takes  a  view  of  its  general  utility  in  the  econ- 
omy of  nature,  or  of  its  mischievousness  as  a  consumer 
of  fruit.  Mr.  George  W.  Rice,  of  West  Newton,  pre- 
serves his  cherry-trees  for  the  exclusive  benefit  of  the 
Robins.  If  they  do  not  take  all  the  cherries,  he  has 
what  they  leave ;  but  he  considers  the  fruit  more  val- 
uable for  the  benefit  of  the  Robins  than  for  any  other 
purpose.  Perhaps,  however,  since  all  men  are  nol 
wise,  we  should  say,  "Cut.  down  all  your  fruit-trees  and 
imitate  the  generosity  of  those  men  whom  we  occasion- 
ally hear  of,  who  choose  to  perform  this  sacrifice  of  their 
own  property  rather  than  to  shoot  the  boys." 

THE   BROWN    CREEPER. 

Another  of  the  companions  of  the  Chickadee  is  the 
Brown  Creeper,  a  bird  of  similar  habits,  often  seen  mov- 
ing in  a  spiral  direction  around  the  trunks  and  branches 
of  trees,  and  when  conscious  of  being  observed,  keeping 
on  the  farther  side  of  a  branch.  He  is  mure  frequently 
seen  in  winjber  than  in  summer,  when  he  is  concealed  by 
the  foliage.  The  different  birds  I  have  named  as  com- 
panions of  the  Chickadee  often   assemble   by  seeming 


376  THE   WINTER   BIRDS. 

accident  in  considerable  numbers  upon  one  tree,  and, 
meeting  perhaps  more  company  than  is  agreeable  to 
them,  they  make  the  wood  resound  with  their  noisy  dis- 
putes. They  may  have  been  assembled  by  some  note  of 
alarm,  and  on  finding  no  particular  cause  for  it,  they  raise 
a  shout  that  reminds  us  of  the  extraordinary  vocifera- 
tion with  which  young  men  and  boys  in  the  country  con- 
clude a  false  alarm  of  fire  in  the  early  part  of  the  night. 
These  birds  are  not  gregarious,  and,  though  fond  of  the 
presence  of  a  few  of  their  own  kind,  are  vexed  when 
they  find  themselves  in  a  crowd. 

THE  NUTHATCH. 

The  Nuthatch  is  often  found  in  these  assemblages,  and 
may  be  recognized  by  his  piercing,  trumpet-like  note. 
This  bird  resembles  the  Woodpecker  in  the  shape  of 
the  bill,  but  has  only  one  hinder  toe  instead  of  two.  He 
is  a  permanent  inhabitant  of  the  cold  parts  of  the  Amer- 
ican continent,  resembling  the  Titmouse  in  his  diligence 
and  activity,  and  in  his  manners  while  in  quest  of  his 
insect  food. 

There  are  times  when  even  the  birds  I  have  described 
in  this  essay,  that  collect  their  food  from  the  bark  and 
wood  of  trees,  are  driven  to  great  extremities.  When  the 
trees  are  incased  in  ice,  which,  though  not  impenetrable 
by  their  strong  bills,  prevents  their  discovery  of  their 
food,  they  are  in  danger  of  starving.  At  such  times  the 
gardens  and  barnyards  are  frequented  by  large  numbers 
of  Woodpeckers,  Creepers,  and  Nuthatches.  Driven  by 
this  necessity  from  their  usual  haunts,  a  piece  of  suet 
fastened  firmly  to  the  branch  of  a  tree,  at  any  time  of 
the  winter,  would  soon  be  discovered  by  them  and 
afford  them  a  grateful  repast.  I  have  frequently  assem- 
bled them  under  my  windows  by  this  allurement. 


THE   WINTER   BIRDS. 


THE   BLUE-JAY. 


If  we  visit  any  part  of  the  forest  or  live  near  it  in 
the  winter,  we  are  sure  to  be  greeted  by  the  voice  of  the 
lively  Blue  Jay,  another  of  our  well-known  winter  bi] 
He  has  a  beautiful  outward  appearance,  under  which  he 
conceals  an  unamiable  temper  and  a  propensity  to  mis- 
chief. There  is  no  bird  in  our  forest  that  is  arrayed  in 
equal  splendor.  His  neck  of  fine  purple,  his  pale  azure 
crest  and  head  with  silky  plumes,  his  black  crescent- 
shaped  collar,  his  wings  and  tail-feathers  of  bright  blue 
with  stripes  of  white  and  black,  and  his  elegant  form 
and  vivacious  manners  render  him  attractive  to  every 
visitor  of  the  woods. 

But  with  all  his  beauty,  he  has,  like  the  Peacock,  a 
harsh  voice.  He  is  a  thief  and  a  disturber  of  the  peace. 
He  is  a  sort  of  Ishmael  among  the  feathered  tribes,  who 
are  startled  at  the  sound  of  his  voice  and  fear  him  as  a 
bandit.  The  farmer,  who  is  well  acquainted  with  his 
habits,  is  no  friend  to  him ;  for  he  takes  not  only  what 
is  required  for  his  immediate  wants,  but  hoards  a  variety 
of  articles  in  large  quantities  for  future  use.  It  would 
seem  as  if  he  were  aware  when  engaged  in  an  honest  and 
when  in  a  dishonest  expedition.  While  searching  for 
food  in  the  field  or  the  open  plain,  he  is  extremely  noisy  ; 
but  when  he  ventures  into  a  barn  to  take  what  does  not 
belong  to  him,  he  is  silent  and  stealthy  and  exhibits  all 
the  peculiar  manners  of  a  thief. 

It  would  be  no  mean  task  to  enumerate  all  the  acts  of 
mischief  perpetrated  by  this  bird,  and  I  cannot  bill  look 
upon  him  as  one  of  the  most  guilty  of  the  winged  inhab- 
itants of  the  wood.  He  plunders  the  cornfield  both  at 
seed-time  and  harvest;  he  steals  every  edible  substanc 
he  can  find  and  conceals  it  in  his  hiding-places;  he  de- 
stroys the  eggs  of  smaller  birds  and  devours  Hair  young. 


378  THE   WINTER   BIRDS. 

He  quarrels  with  all  other  species,  and  his  life  is  a  con- 
stant round  of  contentions.  He  is  restless,  irascible,  and 
pugnacious,  and  he  always  appears  like  one  who  is  out  on 
some  expedition.  Yet,  though  a  pest  to  other  birds,  he 
is  a  watchful  parent  and  a  faithful  guardian  of  his  off- 
spring. It  is  dangerous  to  venture  near  the  nest  of  a 
pair  of  Jays,  who  immediately  attack  the  adventurer, 
aiming  their  blows  at  his  face  and  eyes  with  savage 
determination. 

Like  the  Magpie,  the  Jay  has  considerable  talent  for 
mimicry,  and  when  tamed  has  been  taught  to  articulate 
words  like  a  parrot.  But  this  talent  he  never  exercises 
in  a  wild  state.  At  certain  times  I  have  heard  this  bird 
utter  a  few  notes,  like  the  tinkling  of  a  bell,  and  which, 
if  syllabled,  might  form  such  a  word  as  d illy-lily ;  but  it 
is  not  a  musical  strain.  Indeed,  there  is  no  music  in  his 
nature ;  he  is  fit  only  for  "  stratagems  and  spoils." 

The  Blue-Jay  is  a  true  American.  He  is  known 
throughout  the  continent,  and  never  visits  any  other 
country.  At  no  season  is  he  absent  from  our  woods, 
though  his  voice  always  reminds  me  of  winter.  He  is 
also  an  industrious  consumer  of  the  larger  insects  and 
grubs,  atoning  in  this  way  for  some  of  his  evil  deeds. 
I  cannot  say,  therefore,  that  I  would  consent  to  his  ban- 
ishment, for  he  is  one  of  the  most  cheering  tenants  of  the 
groves  at  a  season  when  they  have  but  few  inhabitants ; 
and  I  never  listen  to  his  voice  without  a  crowd  of  charm- 
ing reminiscences  of  pleasant  winter  excursions  and  ad- 
ventures at  an  early  period  of  life.  The  very  harshness 
of  his  voice  has  caused  it  to  be  impressed  more  forcibly 
upon  my  memory  in  connection  with  these  scenes. 


THE   WINTEB   BIRDS.  :;;•, 

THE   CHOW. 

The  common  Crow  is  the  representative  in  America  of 
the  European  Book,  resembling  it  in  many  of  its  habil 
In  Europe,  where  land  is  more  valuable  than  in  this 
country,  and  where  agriculture  is  carried  on  with  an 
amount  of  skill  that  would  astonish  an  American  tin- 
people  are  not  so  jealous  of  the  birds.  In  Ore, a  Britain, 
rookeries  are  permanent  establishments;  and  the  Rooks, 
notwithstanding  the  mischief  they  do,  are  protected  on 
account  of  their  services  to  agriculture.  The  farmers  of 
Europe,  having  learned  by  experience  that  without  t! 
aid  of  mischievous  birds  their  crops  would  be  sacrificed 
to  the  more  destructive  insect  race,  forgive  them  their 
trespasses  as  we  forgive  the  trespasses  of  cats  and  dogs, 
who  in  the  aggregate  are  vastly  more  destructive  than 
birds.  The  respect  shown  to  birds  by  any  people  seems 
to  bear  a  certain  ratio  to  the  antiquity  of  the  natioa 
Hence  the  sacredness  with  which  they  are  regarded  in 
Japan,  where  the  population  is  so  dense  that  the  inhab- 
itants would  not  consent  to  divide  the  products  of  their 
fields  with  the  feathered  race  unless  their  usefulness 
had  been  demonstrated. 

The  Crow  is  one  of  the  most  unfortunate  of  birds  in 
all  his  relations  to  man ;  for  by  the  public  he  is  regarded 
with  hatred*,  and  every  man's  hand  is  against  him  lb' 
is  protected  neither  by  custom  nor  by  superstition;  the 
sentimentalist  cares  nothing  for  him  as  a  subject  of  ro- 
mance, and  the  utilitarian  is  blind  to  his  services  as  a 
scavenger.  The  farmer  considers  him  as  the  very  rii  - 
leader  of  mischief,  and  uses  all  the  means  lie  can  invent 
for  his  destruction;  the  friend  of  the  singing-birds 
bears  him  a  grudge  as  the  destroyer  of  their  eggs  and 
their  young;  and  even  the  moralist  is  disposed  to  con- 
demn him  for  his  cunniiiLT  and  dissimulation. 


380  THE  WINTER   BIRDS. 

Hence  lie  is  everywhere  hunted  and  persecuted,  and 
the  expedients  used  for  his  destruction  are  numerous 
and  revolting  to  the  sensibility.  He  is  outlawed  by 
legislative  bodies  ;  he  is  hunted  with  the  gun  ;  he  is 
caught  in  crow-nets ;  he  is  hoodwinked  with  bits  of  paper 
smeared  with  birdlime,  to  which  he  is  attracted  by  means 
of  a  bait ;  he  is  poisoned  with  grain  steeped  in  hellebore 
and  strychnine ;  the  reeds  in  which  he  roosts  are  treach- 
erously set  on  fire  ;  he  is  pinioned  by  his  wings,  and  placed 
on  his  back,  and  made  to  grapple  his  companions  who 
come  to  his  rescue.  Like  an  infidel,  he  is  not  allowed 
the  benefit  of  truth  to  save  his  reputation ;  and  children, 
after  receiving  lessons  of  humanity,  are  taught  to  regard 
the  Crow  as  an  unworthy  subject,  if  they  were  to  carry 
the  precepts  taught  them  into  practice.  Every  govern- 
ment has  set  a  price  upon  his  head,  and  public  sentiment 
holds  him  up  to  execration. 

As  an  apology  for  these  atrocities  his  persecutors  enu- 
merate a  long  catalogue  of  misdemeanors  of  which  he  is 
guilty.  He  pillages  the  cornfields  and  pulls  up  the  young 
shoots  of  maize  to  obtain  the  kernels  attached  to  their 
roots.  He  destroys  the  eggs  and  young  of  harmless  birds 
which  are  our  favorites  ;  he  purloins  fruit  from  the  garden 
and  orchard,  and  carries  off  young  ducks  and  chickens  from 
the  farm-yard.  Beside  his  mischievous  propensities  and 
his  habits  of  thieving,  he  is  accused  of  deceit  and  of  a 
depraved  disposition.  He  who  would  plead  for  the  Crow 
will  not  deny  the  general  truth  of  these  accusations,  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  would  enumerate  certain  special  ben- 
efits which  he  confers  upon  man. 

In  the  list  of  services  performed  by  this  bird  we  find 
many  details  that  should  lead  us  to  pause  before  we  con- 
sent to  his  destruction.  He  consumes  vast  quantities  of 
grubs,  worms,  and  noxious  vermin ;  he  is  a  valuable  scav- 
enger, clearing  the  land  of  offensive  masses  of  decaying 


THE   WINTER   BIRDS.  381 

animal  substances;  he  hunts  the  grass-fields  and  pulls 
out  and  devours  various  cutworms  and  caterpillars,  wher- 
ever he  perceives  the  marks  of  their  presence  as  evin 
by  the  wilted  stalks;  he  destroys  mice,  young  rats,  and 
lizards  and  the  smaller  serpents;  and,  lastly,  he  is  a 
volunteer  sentinel  upon  the  farm  and  drives  the  Hawk 
from  its  enclosures.  It  is  chiefly  during  seed-time  and 
harvest  that  the  depredations  of  the  Crow  are  committed 
During  the  remainder  of  the  year  his  acts  are  all  benefits, 
and  so  highly  are  his  services  appreciated  by  those  who 
have  written  on  birds  that  there  is  hardly  an  ornithologist 
that  does  not  plead  for  his  protection. 

Let  us  turn  our  attention  for  a  moment  to  his  moral 
qualities.  In  vain  is  he  condemned  for  cunning  when 
without  this  quality  he  could  not  live.  His  wariness  ig 
a  virtue,  and,  surrounded  as  he  is  by  all  kinds  of  perils 
it  is  his  principal  means  of  self-preservation.  He  has  no 
system  of  faith  and  no  creed  to  which  he  is  under  obli- 
gations to  offer  himself  as  a  martyr.  His  cunning  is  bis 
armor;  and  I  am  persuaded  that  the  persecutions  which 
he  lias  always  suffered  have  caused  the  development  of 
an  amount  of  intelligence  that  elevates  him  many  degi 
above  the  majority  of  the  feathered  race.  Hence  there 
are  few  birds  that  equal  the  Crow  in  sagacity.  He  ob- 
serves many  things  that  could  be  understood,  it  would 
seem,  only  by  human  intelligence.  He  judges  with  ac- 
curacy from  the  deportment  of  the  person  approaching 
him,  if  he  is  prepared  to  do  him  an  injury,  and  seems  to 
pay  no  regard  to  one  who  is  strolling  the  fields  in  search 
of  flowers  or  for  recreation.  On  such  occasions  von  may 
come  so  near  him  as  to  observe  his  manners  and  even  to 
note  the  varying  shades  of  his  plumage.  But  in  \ain 
does  the  gunner  endeavor  to  approach  him.  So  sine  is 
he  to  fly  at  the  right  moment  for  his  safety  thai  "no  might 
suppose  he  could  measure  the  distance  of  gunshot. 


382  THE   WINTER   BIRDS. 

The  cawing  of  the  Crow  seems  to  me  unlike  any  other 
sound  in  nature.  It  is  not  melodious,  though  less 
harsh  than  that  of  the  Jay.  It  is  said  that  when  domes- 
ticated he  is  capable  of  imitating  human  speech,  though  he 
cannot  sing.  But  iEsop  mistook  the  character  of  this  bird 
when  he  represented  him  as  the  dupe  of  the  fox,  who 
gained  the  bit  of  cheese  he  carried  in  his  mouth  by  per- 
suading him  to  exhibit  his  musical  powers.  The  Crow 
could  not  be  fooled  by  any  such  appeals  to  his  vanity. 

The  Crow  is  justly  regarded  as  a  homely  bird  ;  yet  he 
is  not  without  beauty.  His  coat  of  glossy  black  with 
violet  reflections,  his  dark  eyes  and  sagacious  expression 
of  countenance,  his  stately  and  graceful  gait,  and  his 
steady  and  equable  flight,  all  give  him  a  proud  and  dig- 
nified appearance.  The  Crow  and  the  Eaven  have  always 
been  celebrated  for  their  gravity,  —  a  character  that  seems 
to  be  caused  by  their  black,  sacerdotal  vesture  and  by 
certain  peculiar  manifestations  of  intelligence  in  their 
ways  and  general  deportment.  Indeed,  any  one  who 
should  watch  the  motions  of  the  Crow  for  five  minutes, 
when  he  is  stalking  alone  in  the  field  or  when  he  is  ca- 
reeriiiT  with  his  fellows  around  some  tall  tree  in  the  for- 
est,  would  not  fail  to  see  that  he  deserves  to  be  called  a 
grave  bird. 

Setting  aside  all  considerations  of  the  services  rendered 
by  the  Crow  to  agriculture,  I  esteem  him  for  certain  qual- 
ities which  are  agreeably  associated  with  the  charms  of 
nature.  It  is  not  the  singing-birds  alone  that  contribute 
by  their  voices  to  gladden  the  husbandman  and  cheer  the 
solitary  traveller.  The  crowing  of  the  cock  at  the  break 
of  day  is  as  joyful  a  sound,  though  unmusical,  as  the  voice 
of  the  Robin,  who  chants  his  lay  at  the  same  early  hour. 
To  me  the  cawing  of  the  Crow  is  cheering  and  delightful, 
and  it  is  heard  long  before  the  generality  of  birds  have 
left  their  perch.     If  not  one  of  the  melodies  of  morn,  it 


THE   WINTER    I1IRDS. 

is  one  of  the  most  notable  sounds  that  herald  its  ap- 
proach. And  how  intimately  is  the  voice  of  this  bird 
associated  with  the  sunshine  of  calm  wintry  days,  with 
our  woodland  excursions  at  this  inclement  season,  with 
the  stroke  of  the  woodman's  axe,  with  open  doors  in 
bright  and  pleasant  weather,  when  the  eaves  are  dripping 
with  the  melting  snow,  and  with  all  those  cheerful  sounds 
during  that  period  when  every  object  is  valuable  that 
relieves  the  silence  or  softens  the  dreary  aspect  of 
nature ! 


DECEMBER 

It  is  one  of  the  most  cheerful  recreations  for  a 
leisure  hour,  to  go  out  into  the  fields,  under  a  mild,  open 
sky,  to  study  the  various  appearances  of  Nature  that 
accompany  the  changes  of  the  seasons,  and  to  note  those 
phenomena  which  are  peculiar  to  a  climate  of  frost  and 
snow.  The  inhabitant  of  the  tropics  with  his  perpetual 
summer,  who  sees  no  periodical  changes  except  the  alter- 
nations of  rain  and  drought,  is  deprived  of  a  happy  ad- 
vantage possessed  by  the  inhabitant  of  the  north  ;  and, 
with  all  the  blessings  of  his  voluptuous  climate,  is  visited 
by  a  smaller  jDortion  0f  the  moral  enjoyments  of  life. 
In  the  minds  of  those  who  dwell  in  a  northern  latitude 
there  are  sentiments  which  are  probably  never  felt  by  the 
indolent  dweller  in  the  land  of  the  elate  and  the  palm; 
and  however  poetical  to  us  may  seem  the  imagery  drawn 
from  the  pictures  we  have  read  of  those  blissful  regions, 
ours  is  most  truly  the  region  of  poetry,  and  of  all  those 
sentiments  which  poetry  aims  to  express. 

It  will  not  be  denied  that  in  winter  Nature  has  com- 
paratively but  few  attractions ;  that  the  woods  and  fields 
offer  but  few  temptations  to  ramble ;  and  that  these  are 
such  as  appeal  to  the  imagination  rather  than  to  the 
senses,  by  furnishing  matter  for  studious  reflection  and 
calling  up  pleasing  and  poetic  images.  The  man  of 
phlegmatic  mind  sees,  in  all  these  phenomena,  nothing 
but  dreariness  and.  desolation  ;  while  to  the  studious  or 
the  imaginative,  every  form  of  vegetation  on  the  surface 
of  the  earth  becomes  an  instructive  lesson  or  awakens  a 


• 


DECEMBER. 

train  of  imagery  that  inspires  him,  on  a  winter's  walk, 
with  a  buoyancy  not  often  felt  in  the  balmy  days  of  June. 
Then  does  he  trace,  with  unalloyed  delight,  every  green 

leaf  that  seems  budding  out  for  spring;  and  in  the  gen- 
eral stillness,  every  sound   from  abroad   has   a  gladm 
in  its  tone  not  surpassed  by  the  melodies  of  a  summer 


morning. 


On  these  pleasant  days  of  winter,  which  are  of  frequent 
occurrence  in  our  variable  climate,  I  often  indulge  myself 
in  a  solitary  ramble,  taking  note  of  those  forms  of  v< 
tation  that  remain  unchanged,  and  of  the  still  greater 
number  that  lie  folded  in  hyemal  sleep.  For  such  excur- 
sions the  only  proper  time  is  when  the  earth  is  tree  from 
snow,  which,  though  a  beautifier  of  the  prospect,  conceals 
all  minute  objects  that  are  strewed  upon  the  ground  or 
that  are  still  feebly  vegetating  under  the  protection  of 
the  woods.  The  most  prominent  appearances  are  the 
remains  of  autumnal  vegetation.  The  stalks  of  the  faded 
asters  are  still  erect,  with  their  downy  heads  shaking  in 
the  breeze,  which  has  already  scattered  their  seeds  upon 
the  ground ;  and  the  more  conspicuous  tufts  of  the  golden- 
rods  are  seen  in  nodding  and  irregular  rows  under  the 
fences,  or  bending  over  the  ice  that  covers  the  meadows 
where  they  grew.  All  these  are  but  the  faded  garlands  of 
Nature,  that  pleasantly  remind  us  of  the  past  festivities 
of  summer,  of  cheerful  toil,  or  studious  recreation. 

Nature  never  entirely  conceals  the  beauties  <.f  the  ti«  Id 
and  wood  save  when,  for  their  protection,  she  covers  them 
with  snow.  The  faded  remnants  of  last  summer's  vi 
tation  may  have  but  little  positive  beauty;  bul  to  the 
mind  of  the  naturalist  they  are  attractive  on  account  of 
the  lessons  they  afford  and  the  sentiments  they  awaken. 
But  there  are  objects  in  the  wood  which  arc  neither  fade  d 
nor  leafless ;  and  many  that  are  leafless  still  retain  their 
beauty  and  the  appearance  of  life.     Beside   the   ever- 

17  v 


386  DECEMBER. 

greens,  many  of  the  herbs  that  bear  the  early  spring 
flowers  still  retain  their  freshness  and  spread  out  their 
green  leaves  in  the  protected  nook  or  in  the  recesses  of 
the  fern-coverecl  rocks.  The  leaves  of  the  wild  strawberry 
and  the  cinquefoil  are  always  green  in  the  meadows,  and 
those  of  the  violet  on  the  sheltered  slope  of  the  hill. 
The  crowfoot  and  the  geranium  are  in  many  places  as 
fresh  as  in  May;  and  the  aquatic  ranunculus  and  the 
wild  cresses  are  brightly  glowing  with  their  emerald  foli- 
age, in  the  depths  of  the  crystal  watercourses  that  remain 
unfrozen  beneath  the  wooded  precipice,  or  in  the  mossy 
ravines  of  the  forest. 

These  phenomena  are  doubly  interesting  as  evidences 
of  the  continued  life  of  the  beautiful  things  they  repre- 
sent, and  of  the  invisible  and  ever-watchful  providence 
of  Nature.  Every  step  we  take  brings  under  our  review 
other  similar  curiosities  of  vegetable  life,  which,  by  reason 
of  their  commonness,  often  escape  our  observation.  On 
the  sandy  plain  the  slender  hazel-bushes  are  loaded  with 
thousands  of  purple  aments,  suspended  from  their  flexile 
twigs,  all  ready  to  burst  into  bloom  at  the  very  first  breath 
of  spring.  In  the  wet  lands,  where  the  surface  is  one 
continued  sheet  of  ice,  the  crowded  alders  are  so  full 
of  their  embryo  blossoms,  that  their  branches  seem  to 
be  hung  with  dark  purple  fruit ;  and  the  sweet-fern  of 
the  upland  pastures,  in  still,  mild  weather,  often  faintly 
perfumes  the  atmosphere  with  the  scent  of  its  half- 
developed  leaves  and  flowers. 

But  the  face  of  Nature,  at  this  time,  is  not  an  unfruitful 
subject  for  the  poet  or  the  painter.  The  evergreens,  if 
not  more  beautiful,  are  more  conspicuous  than  at  any 
other  season ;  and  there  are  many  bountiful  streamlets 
that  ripple  through  the  woods  and  often  in  their  depths 
find  protection  from  the  greatest  cold.  Around  these 
streams  the  embroidering  mosses   are   as   Green   as   the 


DECEMBER.  7 

grasses  in  May.  The  water-cresses  may  be  seen  grow- 
ing freshly  at  the  bottom  of  their  channels,  and  the  ferns 
are  beautiful  among  the  shelving  rocks,  through  which 
the  waters  make  their  gurgling  tour.  When  the  sun,  at 
noonday,  penetrates  into  these  green  and  sheltered  re- 
cesses, before  the  snow  has  come  upon  the  earth,  when 
the  pines  are  waving  overhead,  the  laurels  clustering  with 
the  undergrowth,  and  the  dewberry  (evergreen-blackberry] 
trailing  at  our  feet,  we  can  easily  imagine  ourselves  sur- 
rounded by  the  green  luxuriance  of  summer.  Nature 
seems  to  have  prepared  these  pleasant  evergreen  retreats, 
that  they  might  afford  to  her  pious  votaries  a  shelter 
during  their  winter  walks,  and  a  prospect  to  gladden 
their  eyes,  when  they  go  out  to  admire  her  works,  and 
pay  the  homage  of  a  humble  heart  to  the  great  Architect 
of  the  universe. 

Nor  is  the  season  without  its  harvest.     The  bayberry, 
or  false  myrtle,  in  dry  places  gleams  with  dense  clusters 
of  greenish-white  berries,  that  almost  conceal  the  branches 
by  their  profusion;  the  pale  azure  berries  of  the  juniper 
are  sparkling  brightly  in  the  midst  of  their  sombre  ever- 
green  foliage;     and   the   prinos    or   black-alder   l>u<! 
glowing  with  the  brightest  scarlet  fruit,  and  resembling 
at  a  distance  pyramids  of  flame,  are  irregularly  distrib- 
uted over  the  wooded  swamps.     AVhile  the   barberries 
hang  in  wilted  and  blackened  clusters  from  their  bus! 
in  the  uplands,  the  cranberries  in  the  peat-meadows  shine 
out  like  "'listening  rubies,  from  their  masses  of  delicate 
and  tangled  vinery.     In  the  open  places  of  the  woods 
the  earth  is  mantled  with  the  dark  glossy  green  V;' 
of  the  gaultheria,  half  concealing  its  drooping  crimson 
berries;  and  the  mitchella,  of  a  more  curious  habit,  each 
berry  being  formed  by  the  united  germs  of  two  flow 
(twins  upon  the  same  stem,)  adorns  similar  places  with 
fairer  foliage  and  brighter  fruit. 


388  DECEMBER. 


There  is  a  sort  of  perpetual  spring  in  these  protected 
arbors  and  recesses,  where  we  may  at  all  times  behold 
the  springing  herbs  and  sprouting  shrubbery,  when  they 
are  not  hidden  under  the  snow-drift.  The  American  hare 
feeds  upon  the  foliage  of  these  tender  herbs,  when  she 
exposes  herself  at  this  season  to  the  aim  of  the  gunner. 
She  cannot  so  well  provide  for  her  winter  wants  as  the 
squirrel,  whose  food,  contained  in  a  husk  or  a  nutshell, 
may  be  abundantly  hoarded  in  her  subterranean  grana- 
ries. The  hare  in  her  garment  of  fur,  protected  from  the 
cold,  feels  no  dread  of  the  climate ;  and  man  is  almost 
the  only  enemy  who  threatens  her,  when  she  comes  out 
timidly  to  browse  upon  the  scant  leaves  of  the  white 
clover,  or  the  heath-like  foliage  of  the  hypericum. 

But  the  charm  of  a  winter's  walk  is  derived  chiefly 
from  the  flowerless  plants,  —  the  ferns  and  lichens  of  the 
rocks,  the  mosses  of  the  dells  and  meres,  and  the  trail- 
ing wintergreens  of  the  pastoral  hills.  Many  species 
of  these  plants  seem  to  revel  in  cold  weather,  as  if  it 
were  congenial  to  their  health  and  wants.  To  them  has 
Nature  intrusted  the  care  of  dressing  all  her  barren  places 
in  verdure,  and  of  preserving  a  grateful  remnant  of  sum- 
mer beauty  in  the  dreary  places  of  winter's  abode.  And 
it  is  not  to  be  wondered  that,  to  the  fanciful  minds  of 
every  nation,  the  woods  have  always  seemed  to  be  peo- 
pled with  fairy  spirits,  by  whose  unseen  hands  the  earth 
is  garlanded  with  lovely  wreaths  of  verdure  at  a  time 
when  not  a  flower  is  to  be  found  upon  the  hills  or  in  the 
meadow. 

Whether  we  are  adapted  to  nature,  or  nature  to  us,  it 
is  not  to  be  denied  that  on  the  face  of  the  earth  those 
objects  that  appear  to  be  natural  are  more  congenial  to 
our  feelings  than  others  strictly  artificial.  The  lichen- 
covered  rocks,  that  form  so  remarkable  a  feature  of  the 
hills  surrounding  our  coast,  are  far  more  pleasing  to  every 


DECEMBER. 

man's  sight  than  similar  rocks  without  this  garniture. 
All  this  may  be  partly  attributed  to  the  different  a 
ciations  connected  with  the  two,  in  our  habitual  trains 
of  thought;  the  one  presenting  to  us  the  evidence  of 
antiquity,  the  other  only  the  disagreeable  idea  of  that 
defacement  so  generally  attendant  on  the  progress  of 
pioneer  settlements.  Hence  the  lichens  and  moss 
upon  the  surface  of  the  rocks,  have  an  expression  which 
has  always  been  eagerly  copied  by  the  painter,  and  is  as- 
sociated with  many  romantic  images,  like  the  clambering 
ivy  upon  the  walls  of  an  ancient  ruined  tower. 

At  this  season,  when  the  greater  part  of  the  landscape 
is  either  covered  with  snow,  or  with  the  seared  and  brown 
herbage  of  winter,  this  vegetation  of  the  rocks  has 
singular  interest.  In  summer  the  rocks  are  bald  in  their 
appearance,  while  all  around  them  is  fresh  and  lively. 
In  winter,  on  the  other  hand,  they  are  covered  with  a 
pale  verdure,  interspersed  with  many  brilliant  colors, 
while  the  surrounding  surface  is  a  comparative  blank. 
Some  objects  are  intrinsically  beautiful,  others  are  beau- 
tiful by  suggestion,  others  again  by  contrast.  This  latter 
principle  causes  many  things  to  appear  delightful  to  the 
eye  at  one  period,  which  at  other  times  would,  by  com- 
parison with  brighter  objects,  seem  dull  and  lifel 
Hence  on  a  winter's  ramble,  when  there  is  no  snow 
upon  the  ground,  our  attention  is  fixed,  not  only  upon 
the  lichens  and  evergreens,  but  likewise  on  the  bright 
purple  glow  that  proceeds  from  every  plat  of  living  shrub- 
bery which  is  spread  out  in  the  wild.  This  appearance 
is  beautiful  by  contrast  with  the  dull  sombre  hues  of  the 
surroundinG:  faded  herbage,  and  it  is  likewise  strongly 
suggestive  of  the  life  and  vigor  of  Nature.    It  is  the  vivid 

CO  o 

hue  of  health,  and  entirely  unlike  the  hue  of  the  same 
plants  if  they  were  dead  or  dying.  It  is  not  necessary 
that  we  should  have  meditated  upon  this  sight,  in  order 


390  DECEMBER. 

to  be  affected  by  it.  We  are  all  unconscious  physiogno- 
mists of  the  face  of  Nature;  and  over  a  wide  tract  of 
country,  were  the  vegetation  blasted  in  autumn  by  some 
secret  pestilence  that  had  destroyed  its  vitality,  its  whole 
aspect  would  be  such  as  to  sadden  every  beholder,  though 
unaware  of  the  fatal  event.  As  the  human  face  in  sleep 
wears  the  glow,  if  not  the  animation  of  waking  life,  so 
the  face  of  Nature,  in  her  hyemal  sleep,  has  a  glow  that 
harmonizes  with  our  feelings  and  with  our  sense  of 
universal  beauty. 

The  wildwood  is  always  full  of  instruction  for  those 
who  are  mindful  either  of  its  general  scenes  or  its 
minuter  objects  ;  and  a  ramble  on  a  pleasant  winter's 
day  produces  on  the  mind  an  invigorating  effect  that 
might  be  used  as  a  safeguard  against  mental  depression. 
The  landscape,  when  undisfigured  by  art,  is  never  without 
beauty,  and  the  woods  are  always  redolent  of  sweet  odors 
that  assist  in  perfecting  the  illusions  that  arise  from 
agreeable  sights.  While  the  exercise  thus  partaken  in 
the  open  air  strengthens  the  body  and  improves  the 
health,  the  objects  presented  for  our  contemplation  are 
tonic  and  exhilarant  in  their  action  on  the  mind.  What- 
ever may  be  the  season  of  the  year,  to  the  student  of 
science  as  well  as  to  the  lover  of  beauty,  something  is 
always  presented  to  fix  his  attention  or  awaken  his  ad- 
miration, and  he  seldom  returns  from  a  woodland  ramble 
without  increased  cheerfulness  and  a  prospect  of  new 
sources  of  rational  happiness. 


BIRDS   OF  THE   SEA  AND   THE   SHORE 

In  my  preceding  essays  I  have  treated  of  birds  chiefly 
as  they  are  endowed  with  song,  or  have  some  particularly 

interesting  trait  of  character.  But  I  must  not  omit  th 
birds  which  may  be  especially  regarded  as  picturesque 
objects  in  landscape.  A  large  proportion  of  these  are 
the  birds  of  the  sea  and  the  shore.  They  are  not  .^inn- 
ing-birds. Nature  has  not  provided  them  with  the  gill 
of  song,  the  music  of  which  would  lie  lost  amidst  the 
roaring  and  dashing  of  waves.  Neither  do  1  make 
them  the  subject  of  my  remarks  as  objects  of  Natural 
History,  but  rather  as  actors  in  the  romance  of  Nature, 
I  treat  of  them  as  they  affect  the  pleasant  solitudes  they 
frequent,  and  increase  their  impressiveness  chiefly  by  their 
graceful  or  singular  flight.  To  the  motions  of  birds,  n<> 
less  than  to  their  beauty  of  plumage  and  to  the  sounds 
of  their  voices,  are  we  indebted  for  a  great  part  of  the  in- 
terest we  feel  in  our  native  land.  The  more  we  study 
them,  the  more  shall  we  feel  that  in  whatever  direction 
we  turn  our  observations,  we  may  extend  them  to  infinity. 
There  is  no  limit  to  the  study  of  Nature.  Even  a  subject 
so  apparently  insignificant  as  the  flight  of  birds  may  open 
the  eyes  to  new  beauties  in  the  aspects  of  Nature  and 
new  sources  of  rational  delight. 

Nothing  can  exceed  the  gracefulness  we  observe  in  the 
flight  of  many  birds  of  the  sea,  from  the  ( )s]>ivv,  that  vaults 
in  the  upper  region  of  the  clouds,  down  to  the  little  S.md- 
piper,  that  charms  the  youthful  sportsman  by  it-  merry 
movements   and   circuitous   flights.      These    little       rds 


392       BIRDS  OF  THE  SEA  AND  THE  SHORE. 

belong  to  the  tribe  of  Waders,  which  are  more  graceful 
in  their  walk  than  any  that  live  in  trees  and  bushes. 
The  great  length  of  their  legs  permits  them  to  take  long 
and  unembarrassed  steps  and  to  move  with  great  facility, 
nodding  all  the  while  with  the  most  amusing  gesticula- 
tions. A  flock  of  Sandpipers  on  the  beach  where  it  is 
left  open  by  the  receding  tide,  employing  themselves  in 
gathering  their  repast  of  marine  insects,  always  in  motion, 
nodding  their  heads  and  bending  their  bodies  as  if  they 
moved  them  on  a  pivot,  now  carelessly  taking  their  food, 
then  suddenly  raising  their  heads  upon  a  slight  alarm, 
now  moving  in  companies  a  short  distance,  then  rising  in 
a  momentary  flight,  is,  to  the  eye  of  a  young  sportsman, 
one  of  the  most  interesting  sights  in  animated  nature. 

The  interest  we  feel  in  these  birds  is  caused  by  their 
picturesque  assemblages  in  twittering  flocks  and  by  their 
peculiar  cries.  The  voices  of  the  sea-birds  have  a  family 
resemblance.  We  can  always  distinguish  their  cries,  which 
are  shrill  and  piercing.  Their  notes  are  never  low  and 
could  seldom  be  mistaken  for  those  of  land-birds.  The 
Sandpipers  afford  great  sport  to  young  gunners,  who  over- 
take and  surprise  them  upon  the  flats  of  solitary  inlets 
when  the  tide  is  low.  They  arrive  in  dense  flocks,  alight- 
ing at  the  edo-e  of  the  tide  and  taking  the  insects  as 
they  are  uncovered ;  and  the  dashing  of  the  waves  close 
to  their  ranks  causes  them  to  be  constantly  flitting  as 
they  break  at  their  feet.  While  we  watch  them  there 
seems  to  be  an  active  contention  between  them  and  the 
rippling  edges  of  the  water. 

It  is  in  winter  that  the  picturesque  movements  of  land- 
birds  are  most  apparent.  In  summer  and  in  autumn, 
before  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  birds  are  partially  concealed 
by  the  foliage  of  trees  and  shrubs,  so  that  the  manner  of 
their  flight  cannot  be  so  easily  observed.  In  winter,  if 
we  start  a  flock  of  them  from  the  ground,  we  may  watch 


BIRDS   OF   THE   SEA   AND   THE   SHORE. 

all  the  peculiarities  of  their  movements.  I  have  alluded 
to  the  descent  of  Snow-Buntings  upon  the  landscape 
as  singularly  beautiful;  but  the  motions  of  a  flock  of 
Quails,  when  feeding  in  an  open  space  in  a  wood  or 
when  suddenly  alarmed,  are  equally  interesting.  When 
a  Dove  or  a  Swallow  takes  flight,  its  progress  through 
the  air  is  so  rapid  and  the  motions  of  its  wings  un- 
discernible  as  to  injure  the  beauty  of  its  flight.  We 
hardly  observe  anything  so  much  as  its  rapidity.  It  is 
quite  otherwise  with  the  Quail.  The  body  of  this  bird 
is  plump  and  heavy  and  its  wings  short,  with  a  peculiar 
concavity  of  the  under  surface  when  expanded.  The 
motions  of  the  wings  are  very  rapid,  and,  having  but 
little  sweep,  the  bird  seems  to  hang  in  the  air,  and  is  car- 
ried along  moderately  by  a  rapid  vibration  of  the  wii 
describing  about  half  a  circle.  Hence  we  see  the  shape 
of  the  bird  during  its  flight. 

Birds  of  prey  are  remarkable  for  their  steady  and 
graceful  flight.  The  motions  of  their  wings  are  slow, 
but  they  are  capable  of  propelling  themselves  through  the 
air  with  great  rapidity.  The  circumgyrations  of  a  Hawk, 
when  reconnoitring  far  aloft  in  the  heavens,  are  very 
picturesque.,  and  have  been  used  at  all  times  to  give  char- 
acter to  certain  landscape  scenes  in  painting.  A  single 
picturesque  attitude  is  sufficient  to  suggest  a  whole  series 
of  movements  to  one  who  has  frequently  watched  them. 
The  Eaven  and  Crow  are  slow  in  their  flight,  which  is 
apparently  difficult.  Hence  these  birds  are  easily  over- 
taken and  annoyed  by  smaller  birds,  which  are  ever 
watchful  for  an  occasion  to  attack  them  without  danger. 
Crows  are  not  formed,  like  Falcons,  to  take  their  prey 
the  wing,  and  they  cannot  perform  those  graceful  and 
difficult  evolutions  that  distinguish  the  flight  of  birds  of 
prey. 

Small  birds  of  the  Sparrow  tribe  and  some  othi  n- 

17* 


394  BIRDS   OF   THE   SEA  AND   THE   SHORE. 

erally  move  in  an  undulating  course,  alternately  rising  and 
sinking.  The  species  that  move  in  this  way  seldom  fly  to 
great  heights,  and  are  incapable  of  making  a  long  jour- 
ney without  frequent  intervals  of  rest.  They  perform 
their  migrations  by  short  daily  stages.  The  flight  of  the 
little  Sandpipers  that  frequent  salt  marshes  in  numerous 
flocks  would  be  an  interesting  study.  These  birds  are 
capable  of  sustaining  an  even  flight  in  a  perfectly  hori- 
zontal line,  only  a  few  inches  above  the  sandy  beach. 
When  they  alight  they  seldom  make  a  curve  or  gyra- 
tion. They  descend  in  a  straight  line,  though  obliquely. 
Snow-Buntings  turn  about,  just  before  they  reach  the 
ground,  and  come  clown  spirally.  I  have  seen  them  per- 
form the  most  intricate  movements,  like  those  of  people 
in  a  cotillon,  executed  with  the  rapidity  of  arrows,  when 
suddenly  checked  in  their  course  by  the  discovery  of  a 
field  covered  with  ripened  grasses. 

THE  KINGFISHER. 

If  we  leave  the  open  field  and  wood,  and  ramble  near 
the  coast  of  some  secluded  branch  of  the  sea  we  may  be 
startled  by  the  harsh  voice  of  the  Kingfisher,  like  the 
sound  of  the  watchman's  rattle.  This  bird  is  the  cele- 
brated Alcedo  or  Halcyon  of  the  ancients,  who  attributed 
to  it  supernatural  powers.  It  was  supposed  to  con- 
struct its  nest  upon  the  waves,  where  it  was  made  to 
float  like  a  vessel  at  anchor.  But  as  the  turbulence  of  a 
storm  would  be  likely  to  destroy  it,  Nature  has  gifted  the 
sitting  birds  with  the  power  of  stilling  the  motion  of  the 
winds  and  waves  during  the  period  of  incubation.  The 
serene  weather  that  accompanies  the  summer  solstice  was 
believed  to  be  the  enchanted  effect  of  the  benign  influence 
of  this  family  of  birds.  Hence  the  name  of  Halcyon  days 
was  applied  to  this  period  of  tranquillity. 


BIKDS   OF   THE   SEA  AND   THE   SIIOIIE. 


■ 


It  is  remarkable  that  fable  should  add  to  these  super- 
natural gifts  the  power  of  song,  as  one  of  the  accomplish- 
ments of  the  Kingfisher.  This  belief  must  have  been 
very  general  among  the  ancients,  and  not  confined  to 
the  Greeks  and  liomans.  Some  of  the  Asiatic  nations 
still  wear  the  skin  of  the  Kingfisher  about  their  persons 
as  a  protection  against  moral  and  physical  evils.  The 
feathers  are  used  as  love-charms;  and  it  is  believed,  if 
the  body  of  the  Kingfisher  be  evenly  fixed  upon  a  pivot, 
it  will  turn  its  head  to  the  north  like  the  magnetic 
needle. 

The  Kingfisher  is  singularly  grotesque  in  his  appear- 
ance, though  not  without  beauty  of  plumage.  His  lung, 
straight,  and  quadrangular  bill,  his  short  and  diminutive 
feet  and  legs,  his  immense  head,  and  his  plumage  of 
dusky  blue,  with  a  bluish  band  on  the  breast,  and  a  white 
collar  around  the  neck,  form  a  mixture  of  the  grotesque 
and  the  beautiful  which,  considered  in  connection  with 
his  singularity  of  habits,  may  account  for  the  bu] 
stitions  that  attach  to  his  history.  He  sits  patiently, 
like  an  angler,  on  a  post  at  the  head  of  a  wharf,  or  on  the 
trunk  of  a  tree  that  extends  over  the  bank,  and,  leaning 
obliquely  with  extended  head  and  beak,  he  watches  for  his 
finny  prey.  There,  with  the  light-blue  sky  above  him  and 
the  dark-blue  waves  beneath,  nothing  on  the  surface  of  the 
water  can  escape  his  penetrating  eyes.  Quickly,  with  a 
sudden  swoop,  he  seizes  a  single  fish  from  an  unsui 
ing  shoal,  and  announces  his  success  by  the  peculiar 
sound  of  his  rattle. 

THE   SPOTTED    TATTLER. 

A  very  interesting  bird  inhabiting  the  shores  oi 
and  lakes  is  the  Peetweet,  or  Spotted  Tattler.     The  birds 
of  this  species  breed  in  all  parts  of  New  England,  arriv- 


396       BIRDS  OF  THE  SEA  AND  THE  SHORE. 

ing  soon  after  the  first  of  May,  and  assembling  in  occa- 
sional twittering  flocks,  skimming  along  the  edges  of 
some  creek  or  inlet,  most  numerously  after  the  tide  has 
left  the  beach.  In  their  circuitous  flights  they  follow  all 
the  inequalities  of  the  coast.  It  is  amusing  to  watch 
their  ways  when  they  are  preparing  for  incubation,  rest- 
less and  anxious,  and  uttering  their  lively  and  plaintive 
cry,  like  the  syllables  jjcet-weet,  repeating  the  last  with 
the  rising  inflection.  They  resemble  the  notes  of  the 
little  Wood-Sparrow,  when  repeated  many  times  in  suc- 
cession, except  that  the  Tattler  utters  them  without  in- 
creasing their  rapidity  or  varying  their  tone.  These 
notes  approach  more  nearly  to  music  than  those  of  any 
other  bird  of  the  sea  or  the  shore. 

The  Tattlers  build  in  the  meadows  among  the  rushes, 
sometimes  in  a  tilled  field  and  very  near  human  dwell- 
ings, where  they  are  seen  roaming  about  with  their  young, 
like  a  hen  with  her  chickens,  searching  for  worms  and 
grubs.  They  are  very  liable  to  be  shot,  while  attracting 
attention  by  their  lively  motions  and.  their  low  and  musi- 
cal flight.  The  young  follow  the  parent  as  soon  as  they 
are  hatched,  when  their  downy  plumage  is  of  an  almost 
uniform  light-grayish  color.  If  surprised,  they  imme- 
diately hide  themselves  among  the  herbage,  while  the 
parent  by  her  motions  and  cries  endeavors  to  draw  atten- 
tion exclusively  to  herself. 

The  birds  of  this  species  have  been  so  wantonly  and 
mercilessly  hunted  by  gunners  of  all  ages,  that  they  have 
become  extremely  shy,  and  have  lost  all  confidence  in 
man.  Yet,  if  they  were  harbored  and  protected  from 
annoyance  and  danger,  they  would  grow  tame  and  con- 
fiding, and  our  fields  and  gardens  would  be  full  of  them. 
A  brood  of  them  following  the  hen  would  be  indefatigable 
hunters  of  insects  in  pastures  and  tilled  lands.  A  few 
pairs  with  their  young  would  perform  incalculable  service 


BIRDS   OF   THE   SEA  AND   THE   SHORE.  '7 

on  every  farm,  and  if  encouraged  and  protected,  would 
soon  reward  us  with  their  confidence  and  their  Bervi 
These  little  birds  are  incapable  of  doing  any  mischief, 
even  if  there  were  fifty  of  them  on  every  farm.  They 
take  no  fruit;  they  do  not  bite  off  the  toj>^  of  tender 
herbs,  like  poultry;  they  are  interesting  in  their  wa; 
and  the  only  cause  of  their  scarcity  is  the  destruction  of 
them  by  gunners. 

THE  UPLAND   PLOVER. 

This  is  a  species  allied  to  the  Peetweet,  and  well  known 
by  the  name  of  Hill-Birds.  They  are  of  a  solitary  hal.it , 
not  to  be  compared  in  utility  and  interest  with  the  little 
Peetweet.  They  are  seldom  seen  in  flocks.  AVe  know 
them  chiefly  by  their  notes,  which  are  familiar  t<>  all  as 
heard  at  dawn  or  early  evening  twilight.  These  melan- 
choly whistling  notes  are  uttered  as  they  pass  from  their 
feeding-places,  while  flying  at  a  great  height,  and  the 
hour  of  darkness  when  they  are  heard,  and  their  plain- 
tive modulation,  render  them  the  most  striking  sounds 
of  a  late  summer  evening. 

THE  GULL. 

Among  the  birds  which  are  most  conspicuous  about 
our  coast,  I  should  mention  the  Gulls.  They  are  not  very 
interesting  birds;  but  their  screaming  voices  remind  us 
of  their  habitats,  and  their  picturesque  motions  are  famil- 
iar to  all  who  are  accustomed  to  the  sea-shore.  They 
associate  in  miscellaneous  flocks,  containing  often  Beveral 
species,  and  enliven  the  hour  and  the  prospeel  by  their 
manoeuvres  and  their  peculiar  cries.  The  Gull  is  dis 
guished  by  its  small  and  lean  body,  which  is  .  I  with 

a  great  quantity  of  feathers.     Its  wings  and  head  are  very 


393  BIRDS   OF   THE   SEA   AND   THE   SHORE. 

large,  all  uniting  to  give  the  bird  a  false  appearance  of 
size.  Hence,  I  suppose,  originated  the  word,  when  used 
to  imply  deception.  The  sportsman  who  for  the  first 
time  has  shot  one  of  these  birds,  expecting  to  find  it  large 
and  plump,  and  discovers  only  a  miserable  lean  carcass 
imbedded  in  a  large  mass  of  feathers,  is  said  to  be  gulled. 


THE  LOON. 

I  must  not  conclude  without  mentioning  the  Loon,  one 
of  the  most  romantic  of  birds,  the  Hermit  of  our  northern 
lakes,  and  so  exceedingly  shy  that  it  is  rarely  seen  ex- 
cept at  a  great  distance.  This  bird  belongs  to  the  family 
of  Divers,  so  called  from  their  habit  of  disappearing  under 
the  water  at  the  moment  when  they  catch  a  glimpse  of 
any  human  being.  The  Loon  inhabits  the  northern  parts 
of  Europe  and  North  America,  and  is  occasionally  seen 
and  heard  in  the  lakes  of  New  England,  but  chiefly  now 
in  those  of  Northern  Maine.  As  population  increases, 
this  species  retires  to  more  solitary  places. 

In  allusion  to  the  scream  of  this  bird,  Nuttall  says : 
"  Far  out  at  sea  in  winter  and  in  the  great  northern  lakes, 
I  have  often  heard  on  a  fine,  calm  morning  the  sad  and 
wolfish  call  of  the  solitary  Loon,  which  like  a  dismal  echo 
seems  slowly  to  invade  the  ear,  and  rising  as  it  proceeds 
dies  away  in  the  air.  This  boding  sound  to  the  mariner, 
supposed  to  be  indicative  of  a  storm,  may  be  heard  some- 
times for  two  or  three  miles,  when  the  bird  itself  is  invis- 
ible or  reduced  almost  to  a  speck  in  the  distance.  The 
aborigines,  almost  as  superstitious  as  sailors,  dislike  to 
hear  the  cry  of  the  Loon,  considering  the  bird,  from  its  shy 
and  extraordinary  habits,  as  a  sort  of  supernatural  being. 
By  the  Norwegians  it  is  with  more  appearance  of  reason 
supposed  to  portend  rain." 


OLD   HOUSES. 

When  journeying  in  the  country,  who  has  not  occa- 
sionally felt  that  the  sight  of  the  finest  houses  and  the 
most  highly  ornamented  grounds  does  not  affect  the 
mind  with  the  greatest  pleasure?  We  are  soon  tired 
objects,  however  beautiful,  that  produce  no  other  effect 
than  to  excite  an  agreeable  visual  sensation.  Something 
that  affords  a  pleasing  exercise  for  the  sympathies  and 
the  imagination  must  be  blended  with  all  scenes  of 
beauty,  or  they  soon  become  vapid  and  uninteresting. 
When  we  first  enter  the  interior  of  a  spacious  dome, 
which  is  surrounded  with  colored  glass  windows,  the 
physical  sensation  of  beauty  thus  produced  may  detain 
us  a  few  moments  with  extreme  pleasure.  But  a  fre- 
quent repetition  of  these  visits  would  cause  the  spectacle 
to  become  tiresome,  because  it  excites  the  eye  without 
affecting  the  mind.  The  very  opposite  effect  would  1"' 
produced  by  visiting  a  gallery  of  painting-,  because 
there  is  no  end  to  the  ideas  and  images  which  thi 
works  of  genius  may  suggest. 

In  like  manner,  when  travelling  among  the  scenes  of 
nature  and  art,  many  a  highly  ornamented  house  pas 
before  our  eyes  without  making  any  better  impression 
upon  the  mind  than  that  which  is  produced  by  examin- 
ing the  plates  of  fashions  in  the  window  of  a  tailor's  shop. 
As  we  proceed  farther  into  the  country  we  presently  en- 
counter a  scene  that  awakens  a  different  class  of  emotions, 
that  seem  to  penetrate  more  deeply  into  the  bouI  An  old 
house,  containing  two  stories  in  front,  with  the  back  r<>"t 


400  OLD  HOUSES. 

extending  almost  to  the  ground,  is  seen  half  protected  by 
the  drooping  branches  of  a  venerable  elm.  A  Virginia 
creeper  hangs  in  careless  festoons  around  the  low  win- 
dows, and  a  white  rose-bush  grows  luxuriantly  over  the 
plain  board  fence  that  encloses  the  garden.  The  house 
stands  a  few  rods  back  from  the  road,  and  is  surrounded 
in  front  and  on  one  side  by  an  extensive  grass-plat,  neatly 
shorn  by  the  grazing  animals  while  sauntering  on  their 
return  from  pasture.  An  old  barn  is  near ;  and  the  flocks 
and  the  poidtry  seem  to  enjoy  an  amount  of  comfort 
which  we  might  look  for  in  vain  in  the  vicinity  of  a 
more  ornate  dwelling-house. 

There  is  an  appearance  of  comfort  and  freedom  about 
this  old  house  that  renders  it  a  pleasing  object  to  almost 
every  eye.  No  one  can  see  it  without  calling  to  mind  the 
old-fashioned  people  whom  we  always  suppose  to  be  its 
occupants.  About  it  and  around  it  we  see  no  evidences 
of  that  constraint  to  which  the  in-dwellers  and  visitors 
of  some  more  fashionable  houses  must  be  doomed.  The 
exterior  is  associated  with  its  interior  arrangements,  no 
less  than  with  the  scenes  around  it.  AYe  see,  in  the 
mind's  eye,  the  wide  entry  into  which  the  front  door 
opens,  the  broad  and  angular  staircase,  the  window  in 
the  upper  entry,  that  looks  out  upon  a  rustic  landscape 
dotted  with  fruit-trees,  and  patches  of  ploughed  land 
alternating  with  green  meadow.  By  the  side  of  the  stair- 
case, on  the  lower  floor,  stands  an  ancient  clock,  whose 
loud  striking  and  slow  stroke  of  the  pendulum  are  asso- 
ciated with  the  old  style  of  low-studded  rooms.  Perhaps 
by  studying  the  cause  of  the  pleasant  emotions  with 
which  we  contemplate  this  old  house,  we  may  arrive 
at  the  knowledge  of  a  principle  that  may  be  turned  to 
advantage  in  regulating  our  own  and  the  public  taste. 

The  charm  of  these  old  houses,  which  are  marked  by 
neatness  and  plainness,  and  by  an  absence  of  all  preten- 


OLD   HOUSES.  401 

sion,  is  founded  on  the  natural  yearning  of  every  human 
soul  after  freedom  and  simplicity.  In  them  we  behold 
the  evidences  of  a  mode  of  life,  which,  if  we  could  but 
rid  our  hearts  of  a  little  insanity,  we  should  above  all 
choose  for  ourselves.  The  human  heart  naturally  attaches 
itself  to  those  scenes  in  which  it  would  be  free  l"  indulge 

■ 

its  own  natural  fancies.  But  there  is  a  habit  stron 
than  nature,  derived  from  our  perverted  education,  that 
causes  us  to  choose  a  part  that  will  excite  the  envy  of 
our  neighbors,  in  preference  to  one  that  would  best  pin- 
mote  our  own  happiness.  Hence  a  man  chooses  to  be 
embarrassed  .with  expenses  above  his  pecuniary  condition, 
for  the  vain  purpose  of  exciting  admiration,  rather  than 
to  gratify  his  own  tastes  in  the  enjoyment  of  greater 
freedom  and  a  more  humble  and  frugal  mode  of  li: 

In  vain  does  the  worshipper  of  fashion,  by  planting  an 
ornate  dwelling-house  in  the  heart  of  a  forest,  endeavor 
to  add  to  it  the  charm  of  a  rustic  cottage  in  the  wooda 
The  traveller,  as  he  beholds  its  proud  ornaments  glit- 
tering through  the  trees,  sees  nothing  of  that  charming 
repose  which,  like  a  halo  of  beauty,  surrounds  the  cot- 
tage of  the  rustic.  He  perceives  in  it  the  expression  of 
a  striving  after  something  that  is  incompatible  with  its 
affectations.  There  may  be  a  true  love  of  nature  among 
the  inmates  of  this  house.  But  they  cannot  consent 
wholly  to  relinquish  that  bondage  of  fashion  which 
overpowers  their  love  of  freedom  and  simplicity,  as 
the  appetite  of  the  inebriate  causes  him,  in  spite  of 
his  better  resolutions,  to  turn  back  to  the  cup  that  is 
destroying  him.  Nature  may  harmonize  with  elegai 
refinement,  and  grandeur,  but  not  with  pretem  Hie 
rural  deities  will  not  make  their  haunts  near  the  abode 
of  vanity;   and   the   Naiad,   when   she  her    ru 

fountain  destroyed,  turns  sorrowfully  away  from  the 
spouting  foam  of  a  jet  tfeau. 


402  OLD   HOUSES. 

There  may  be  more  true  love  of  Nature  in  the  inmates 
of  this  ambitious  dwelling  than  in  those  of  the  rustic 
cottage ;  but  the  former  gives  no  evidence  of  this  love, 
if  it  is  built  in  a  style  expressive  of  that  folly  which  is 
continually  drawing  us  away  from  Nature  and  happi- 
ness. Place  them  both  in  a  picture,  and  the  fashionable 
house  excites  only  the  idea  of  coxcombry,  while  the 
rustic  cottage  charms  all  hearts.  Is  it  not  possible  to 
borrow  this  indescribable  charm  and  add  it  to  our  countrv 
residences  ?  Not  until  the  builder  or  designer  has  become 
as  one  of  these  cottagers  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart, 
and  is  content  to  forget  the  world  when  he  is  planning 
for  his  retirement.  Then  might  the  traveller  pause  to 
contemplate  with  delight  a  house  in  which  the  absence  of 
all  affectation  renders  doubly  charming  those  rural  accom- 
paniments, in  which  the  wealth  of  the  owner,  if  he  be 
wealthy,  is  detected  only  by  the  simple  magnificence  of 
his  grounds,  and  his  taste  displayed  by  the  charm  which 
art  has  added  to  Nature,  without  degrading  her  fauns 
and  her  hamadryads  into  mere  deities  of  the  boudoir. 

These  old  houses  with  a  long  back  roof  are  not  the  only 
picturesque  houses  among  our  ancient  buildings ;  but  no 
other  style  seems  to  me  so  entirely  American.  Wherever 
we  journey  in  New  England,  we  find  neat  little  cottages 
of  one  story,  some  with  a  door  in  front  dividing  the  house 
into  two  equal  parts,  some  with  a  door  at  the  side  of  the 
front,  and  a  vestibule  with  a  door  at  the  opposite  end. 
It  is  common,  when  you  meet  with  an  old  cottage  of  this 
style  in  the  less  frequented  roads  in  the  country,  to  see 
an  elm  standing  in  front,  shading  a  wide  extent  of  lawn. 
Sometimes  there  may  be  merely  an  apple-tree  or  pear-tree 
for  purposes  of  shade.  A  rose-bush  under  one  of  the 
windows,  bearing  flowers  of  a  deep  crimson,  and  a  lilac 
at  the  corner  of  the  garden  near  the  house,  are  perhaps 
the  only  shrubbery.      These  humble  dwellings  are  the 


-&*sM^« 


OLD   HOUSES.  403 

principal  attraction  in  some  of  our  old  winding  roads,  and 
they  are  remembered  in  connection  with  many  delightful 
rural  excursions.  The  rage  that  has  pos  d  the  Bona 
of  the  original  occupants  of  these  cottages  for  putl 
up  pasteboard  imitations  of  something  existing  partly  in 
romance  and  partly  in  the  imagination  of  the  designer, 
has  destroyed  the  rurality  of  many  scenes  in  our  (.Id 
country  villages. 

Any  marks  of  pretension,  or  of  striving  after  somethi] 
beyond  the  supposed  circumstances  of  the  occupants  of 
a  house,  are  disagreeable  to  the  spectator.  Could  tin- 
sons  of  the  old-fashioned  people  who  occupy  plain  dwell- 
ings have  labored  to  preserve  their  simplicity  and  rustic 
expression,  combined  with  a  purer  style  of  architecture, 
the  effect  would  have  been  exceedingly  pleasing.  They 
have  done  the  very  opposite  of  this.  Ambitious  to  ex- 
clude from  their  houses  everything  that  would  be  re- 
motely suggestive  of  the  simple  habits  of  rural  life,  they 
have  endeavored  to  make  them  look  as  much  as  Dossil 
with  one  hundredth  part  of  the  cost,  like  the  villa  of  a 
nobleman.  So  many  of  these  ambitious  cottages  have 
been  reared  on  many  of  our  old  roads,  as  to  have  entirely 
destroyed  that  picturesque  beauty  which  made  almost 
every  route  a  pleasant  landscape.  The  road,  once  covered 
on  all  sides  with  those  rural  scenes  that  charm  every 
lover  of  the  country,  has  become  as  tame  as  one  of  th 
new-made  roads,  laid  out  by  speculators  mi  devastated 
ground,  to  be  sold  in  lots  under  the  hammer  of  the 
auctioneer. 

The  Xew  England  people  have  been  repeatedly  char- 
acterized as  wanting  in  taste;  and  this  deficiency  is 
supposed  to  be  exemplified  in  the  entire  absence  of 
ornamental  work  about  our  old  houses  and  their  em  1 
ures.  It  is  a  maxim  that  a  person  who  is  deficient  in 
taste  always  runs  to  an  extreme  in  the  use  of  ornaments, 


404  OLD   HOUSES. 

whenever  he  attempts  to  use  them.  Hence  the  profusely 
decorated  houses  of  the  present  generation  do  not  evince 
any  positive  improvement  in  taste,  when  compared  with 
those  of  their  predecessors.  They  are  simply  a  proof 
that  the  people  of  the  present  time  have  more  ambition. 
That  want  of  taste,  which  former  generations  exhibited 
by  their  entire  disregard  of  ornament,  is  manifested  in 
their  successors  by  their  profuse  and  indiscriminate  use 
of  it.  The  present  house  is  no  longer  a  thing  to  be  loved. 
We  cease  to  look  upon  it  with  affection.  It  is  a  glitter- 
ing thing  that  merely  pleases  the  eye,  but  awakens  no 
delightful  sentiment. 

The  object  of  these  remarks  is  not  to  deride  wealth, 
but  to  condemn  the  ostentation  of  wealth  that  does  not 
exist,  and  the  use  of  a  house  as  a  false  advertisement 
of  the  personal  importance  of  its  owner.  An  intelligent 
man  of  wealth  would  reject  these  meretricious  decora- 
tions as  the  mere  sham  substitute  for  something  better 
which  he  would  adopt  because  he  could  afford  it.  The 
false  taste  which  is  here  censured  is  mere  architectural 
hypocrisy.  My  purpose  is  to  analyze  certain  of  our 
emotions  and  sentiments,  and  to  prove  thereby  that  the 
man  who  builds  a  showy  house  gains  no  admiration,  and 
essentially  mars  his  own  happiness.  Why  do  we  con- 
template with  the  purest  delight  a  simple  cottage  in  a 
half-rude,  half-cultivated  field,  except  that  it  gives  indi- 
cations of  something  adapted  to  confer  happiness  upon  its 
inmates  ?  The  rustic  well,  with  a  long  pole  fastened  to 
a  lever,  by  which  the  bucket  is  raised  ;  the  neat  stone-wall 
or  iron-gray  fence  that  marks  the  boundary  of  the  yard ; 
the  old  standard  apple-trees  dotted  about  irregularly  all 
over  the  grounds ;  the  never-failing  brook  following  its 
native  circuitous  course  through  the  meadow,  —  all  these 
objects  present  to  the  eye  a  scene  that  is  strongly  sugges- 
tive of  domestic  comfort  and  happiness. 


OLD   HOUSES.  1 

Let  us  not,  in  our  zeal  for  rearing  something  beauti 
overlook  the  effect  of  these  venerable  relics  of  the  m 
simple  mode  of  life  that  prevailed  fifty  years  sii  Lei 

us  not  mistake  mere  glitter  for  beauty,  nor  the  prompt- 
ings of  vanity  for  those  of  taste.  Let  us  beware,  Lest  in 
our  passion  for  improvement,  without  a  rational  aim. 
banish  simplicity  from  the  old  farm,  and  allow  fashion  to 
usurp  the  throne  of  Nature  in  her  own  groves.  Far  dis- 
tant be  the  time  when  the  less  familiar  birds  of  our  forest 
are  compelled  to  retire  beyond  the  confines  of  our  villa. 
and  when  the  red-thrush  is  heard  only  in  a  few  solitary 
places,  mourning  over  that  barbarous  art  which  has  de- 
stroyed every  green  thicket  of  native  shrubbery,  wl.  . 
alone  she  makes  her  haunts.  This  rage  for  foreign 
shrubbery  is  fatal  to  the  birds,  each  species  being  depen- 
dent on  certain  native  trees  and  shrubs  for  subsistence 
and  protection.  By  eradicating  every  native  coppice,  and 
planting  exotics  in  their  place,  we  may  as  effectually  ban- 
ish the  thrushes,  and  many  other  species  of  warblers,  from 
our  territories  as  by  constantly  shooting  them. 

Another  style  of  old  houses  is  a  square  with  a  hipped 
roof,  usually  of  two  stories.  This  is  a  little  more  pre- 
tentious than  the  others  I  have  described,  and  is  more 
frequently  seen  with  an  ornamental  fence  in  front,  after 
the  present  fashion.  Hence  it  is  less  attractive  than 
some  of  the  more  primitive  houses.  A  more  pleasing 
style  is  a  nearly  square  building  of  one  story,  with  a 
curb  roof,  having  the  front  door  at  the  extreme  end  of 
the  front,  and  a  vestibule  on  one  side,  formed  bj  i 
tending  the  rear  half  of  the  house  a  lew  feet,  with  only 
half  a  roof,  making  the  door  in  the  vestibule  and  the 
front  door  face  the  same  way.  Modern  improver 
there  is  no  beauty  in  these  old  houses.  As  well  might 
they  say  there  is  no  beauty  in  an  old  tree,  unless  it  ifl 
nicely  trimmed   and  whitewashed.      More   charming 


406  OLD   HOUSES. 

the  sight  is  a  humble  two-story  house,  unadorned  by  a 
single  artistical  decoration,  with  a  venerable  old  tree  in 
front  and  a  wide  extent  of  lawn,  than  the  most  showy 
house  in  the  modern  filigree  style,  with  its  narrow  en- 
closures, its  stiff  spruces,  and  its  ornamental  fence  that 
seems  purposely  designed  to  shut  out  Nature. 

One  principal  charm  of  a  cottage  consists  in  the  rural 
appurtenances  around  it :  and  the  less  inexpressive  archi- 
tectural ornament  there  is  about  it  the  greater  is  this 
charm.  It  is  true  there  is  a  style  of  building  which  is 
always  pleasing  to  the  eye,  and  another  which  is  either 
offensive  or  unattractive.  A  good  style  differs  from  a 
bad  style  chiefly  in  suggesting,  by  its  external  appearance, 
all  those  exterior  and  interior  arrangements  which  serve 
to  make  it  a  happy  and  comfortable  residence.  This  is 
the  principal  beauty  which  is  desirable  in  a  dwelling  in 
order  to  produce  the  most  charming  effect.  There  are 
certain  ornaments  the  utility  of  which  is  not  apparent ; 
but  everything  added  externally  to  a  house,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  rule  of  proportions,  that  suggests  to  the 
mind  an  additional  comfort  or  convenience,  renders  it 
more  pleasing  to  the  sight.  Hence  a  plain,  square  house, 
without  a  single  projection,  is  not  so  pleasant  to  look 
upon  as  another,  whose  wings  and  vestibules,  under 
separate  roofs,  exhibit  at  once  to  the  mind  the  conven- 
iences within.  A  neatness  and  elegance  of  finish  would 
improve  it  still  further ;  but  any  inexpressive  ornaments 
would  spoil  it.  There  is  a  class  of  ornaments,  however, 
which  are  beautiful  from  suggesting  something,  indepen- 
dent of  actual  utility,  that  is  agreeable  to  the  imagination. 

I  would  venture  to  affirm  that  the  more  showy  the 
house,  other  things  being  equal,  the  less  pleasure  does  it 
confer  upon  its  owner  or  occupant.  A  perpetual  glitter 
soon  tires  upon  the  eye  and  wearies  the  mind.  There  is 
a  want  of  what  painters  call  repose  in  a  building  that  is 


OLD   HOUSES.  407 

excessively  ornate;  and  the  occupants  of  such  a   boi 
most  feel  less  tranquil  satisfaction   in  ii   than   in  one 
equal  convenience,  which  is   furnished    only  with    such 
ornaments  as  have   been   denominated  chaste.      Cha 
pleasures  are  those  which  are  attended    by  no  d 
and  bring  no  repentance;  and  chaste  ornaments  resemble 
them  in  this  respect,  by  giving  permanent  satisfaction, 
and  by  causing  no  fatigue  to  the  eye  or  repentance  to  the 
mind.     There  is  a  stronger  analogy  between   these  two 
things  than  any  one  who  has  not  reflected  upon  the  sub- 
ject can  be  aware  of.     It  is  safe  to  asserl   that  any  par- 
ticular style  of  building  and  grounds,  which  serves  in  the 
highest  degree  to  promote  the  happiness  of  the  permanent 
occupants,  will  confer  the  most  enduring  pleasure  upon 
the  beholder. 

We  frequently  admire  without  one  spark  of  affection, 
and  love  with  deep  affection  what  we  do  not  admire. 
But  more  pleasure  springs  from  love  than  from  admira- 
tion; and  when  people  madly  relinquish  those  humble 
scenes  and  objects  which  they  love,  to  obtain  those  which 
shall  glitter  in  the  public  eye,  tickle  their  own  vanity 
and  excite  the  envy  of  their  neighbors,  they  commit  a 
greater  error  than  the  most  bitter  declaimei  against  pride 
has  generally  imagined.  I  am  far  from  believing  tin- 
paradox,  maintained  by  Rousseau,  that  man  is  m 
happy  in  a  state  of  nature  than  in  a  civilized  si 
This  author,  in  his  efforts  to  grasp  at  an  important  truth, 
reached  bevond  it,  That  irreat  truth  I  believe  to  he  this 
that  the  more  we  extend  and  cultivate  the  moral  and  in- 
tellectual advantages  and  refinements  of  civilization,  while 
we  tie  ourselves  down  to  the  simple  habits  ^>\'  rustic  lite 
the  greater  will  be  the  sum  of  our  happiness. 


JANUAKY. 

Poets  in  all  aires  have  suno-  of  the  delights  of  seed- 
time  and  harvest,  and  of  the  voluptuous  pleasures  of 
summer ;  but  when  treating  of  winter,  they  have  con- 
fined their  descriptions  to  the  sports  of  the  season  rather 
than  to  the  beauties  of  Nature.  Winter  is  supposed  to 
furnish  but  few  enjoyments  to  be  compared  with  those  of 
summer;  because  the  majority  of  men,  being  oppressed 
by  too  many  burdens,  naturally  yearn  for  a  life  of  indo- 
lence. I  will  not  deny  that  the  pleasures  derived  from 
the  direct  influence  of  Nature  are  greatly  diminished  in 
cold  weather;  there  are  not  so  many  interesting  objects 
to  amuse  the  mind,  as  in  the  season  when  all  animated 
things  are  awake,  and  the  earth  is  covered  with  vegeta- 
tion ;  but  there  are  many  pleasant  rural  excursions  and 
invigorating  exercises  which  can  be  enjoyed  only  in  the 
winter  season,  and  for  which  thousands  of  our  undegen- 
erate  yeomanry  would  welcome  its  annual  visit. 

The  pleasures  of  a  winter's  walk  are  chiefly  such  as 
are  derived  from  prospect.  A  landscape-painter  could  be 
but  partially  acquainted  with  the  sublimity  of  terrestrial 
scenery,  if  he  had  never  looked  upon  the  earth  when  it 
was  covered  with  snow.  In  summer  the  prospect  unfolds 
such  an  infinite  array  of  beautiful  things  to  our  sight, 
that  the  sublimity  of  the  scene  is  hidden  beneath  a  spec- 
tacle of  dazzling  and  flowery  splendor.  We  are  then 
more  powerfully  attracted  by  objects  of  beauty  that  charm 
the  senses  than  by  those  grander  aspects  of  Nature  that 
awaken  the  emotion  of  sublimity.     In  winter,  the  earth 


JANUARY.  409 

is    divested   of   all  those   accompaniments   of   Been 
which  are  not  in  unison  with  grandeur.     At  this  period, 
therefore,  the  mind  is  affected  with  nobler  thoughts;  it 
is  less  bewildered  by  a  multitude  of  fascinating  obje  I 

and  is  more  free  to  indulge  itself  in  a  serious  train  of 
meditations. 

The  exhilaration  of  mind  attending  a  winter  walk  in 
the  fields  and  woods,  when  the  earth  is  covered  with 
snow,  surpasses  any  emotion  of  the  kind  which  is  pro- 
duced by  the  appearance  of  Nature  at  other  seasons.  We 
often  hear  in  conversation  of  the  invigorating  effects  of 
cold  weather;  yet  those  few  only  who  are  engaged  in 
rural  occupations,  and  who  spend  the  greater  part  of  the 
day  in  the  open  air,  can  fully  realize  the  amount  of  phj  s- 
ical  enjoyment  that  springs  from  it.  I  can  appreciate  the 
languid  recreations  of  a  warm  summer's  day.  When  one 
is  at  leisure  in  the  country  he  cannot  fail  to  enjoy  it,  if 
he  can  take  shelter  under  the  canopy  of  trees  or  in  the 
deeper  shade  of  the  forest.  But  these  languid  enjoyments 
would  soon  become  oppressive  and  monotonous;  and  the 
constant  participation  of  them  must  cause  one  gradually 
to  degenerate  into  a  mere  animal.  The  human  mind  is 
constituted  to  feel  positive  pleasure  only  in  action. 
Sleep  and  rest  are  mere  negative  conditions,  to  which 
we  submit  with  a  grateful  sense  of  their  power  to  lit  us 
for  the  renewed  exercise  of  the1  mind  and  the  body. 

In  our  latitude,  at  the  present  era  January  is  usually 
the  month  of  the  greatest  cold;  and  in  severe  weather 
there  is  a  general  stillness  that  is  favorable  to  musing. 
The  little  streamlets  are  frozen  and  silent,  ami  tl, 
hardly  any  motion  except  of  the  winds,  and  of  the  t: 
that  bend  to  their  force.     But  the  works  of  Nature  are 
still  carried  on  beneath  the  frost  and  snow.     Though  the 
flowers  are  buried  in  their  byemal  sleep,  thousands  "1 
unseen  elements  are  present,  all  waiting  to  prepare  their 

18 


410  JANUARY. 

hues  and  fragrance,  when  the  spring  returns  and  wakes 
the  flowers  and  calls  the  bees  out  from  their  hives. 
Nature  is  always  active  in  her  operations ;  and  during 
winter  are  the  embryos  nursed  of  myriad  hosts,  that  will 
soon  spread  beauty  over  the  plains  and  give  animation  to 
the  field  and  forest. 

Since  the  beauties  of  summer  and  autumn  have  faded, 
Nature  has  bestowed  on  earth  and  man  a  brilliant  recom- 
pense, and  spread  the  prospect  with  new  scenes  of  beauty 
and  sublimity.  The  frozen  branches  of  the  trees  are 
clattering  in  the  wind,  and  the  reed  stands  nodding  above 
the  ice  and  shivers  in  the  rustling  breeze.  But  while 
these  things  remind  us  of  the  chills  of  winter,  the  univer- 
sal prospect  of  snow  sends  into  the  soul  the  light  of  its 
own  perfecjb  purity  and  splendor,  and  makes  the  landscape 
still  beautiful  in  its  desolation.  Though  we  look  in  vain 
for  a  green  herb,  save  where  the  ferns  and  mosses  conceal 
themselves  in  little  dingles  among  the  rocks,  yet  the 
general  face  of  the  earth  is  unsurpassed  in  brilliancy. 
Morning,  noon,  and  night  exhibit  glories  unknown  to 
any  other  season ;  and  the  moon  is  more  lovely  when 
she  looks  down  from  her  starry  throne  and  over  field, 
lake,  mountain,  and  valley,  emblems  the  tranquillity  of 
heaven. 

It  is  pleasant  to  watch  the  progress  and  movements  of 
a  snow-storm  while  the  flakes  are  thickly  falling  from  the 
skies,  and  the  drifts  are  rapidly  accumulating  along 
the  sides  of  the  fences  and  in  the  lanes  and  hollows. 
The  peculiar  motion  of  the  winds,  while  eddying  and 
whirling  over  the  varied  surface  of  the  ground,  is  ren- 
dered more  apparent  than  by  any  other  phenomenon. 
Every  curve  and  every  irregular  twisting  of  the  wind  is 
made  palpable,  to  a  degree  that  is  never  witnessed  in  the 
whirling  leaves  of  autumn,  in  the  sand  of  the  desert,  or 
in  the  dashing  spray  of  the  ocean.     The  appearance  is 


JANUABY.  -HI 

less  exciting  when  the  snow  descends  through  a  perfectly 

still  atmosphere,  but  after  its  cessation  we  may  will. 
a  spectacle  of  singular  beauty.    If  there  has  been  do  wind 
to  disturb  the  snow-flakes  as  they  were  deposited  on  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  to  which  they  adhere,  they  hang 
from   them  like   a  drapery  of  muslin;   then  do  \ 
throughout  the  woods  the  mimic  splendor  of  June  ;  and 
the  plumage  of  snow  suspended  from  the  branch* 
vives  in  fancy's  eye  the  white  clustering  blossoms  of  the 
orchards  in  early  summer. 

Sometimes  when  the  woods  are  fully  wreathed  in 
snow-flakes,  and  the  earth  is  clothed  in  an  interminable 
robe  of  ermine,  the  full  moon  rises  upon  the  landscape 
and  illumines  the  whole  scene  with  a  kind  of  unearthly 
splendor.  If  we  wake  out  of  sleep  into  a  sudden  view 
of  this  enchanted  scene,  though  the  mind  be  wearied  and 
depressed,  it  is  impossible,  without  rapture,  to  contem- 
late  the  etherial  prospect.  The  unblemished  purity  of 
the  snow-picture,  before  the  senses  are  awakened  to  a 
full  consciousness  of  our  situation,  glows  upon  tin'  vision 
like  a  scene  from  that  fairy  world  which  has  often 
gleamed  upon  the  soul  during  its  youthful  season  of 
romance  and  poetry.  And  when  the  early  raya  of 
morning  penetrate  these  feathery  branches  ami  Bpit 
over  the  white  and  spotless  hills  of  snow  a  rosy  tinge, 
like  the  hues  that  burnish  the  clouds  at  sunset,  and  kin- 
dle amid  the  glittering  fleece  that  is  wreathed  around 
the  branches  all  the  changeable  colors  of  the  rainbow,  we 
are  tempted  to  exclaim  that  the  summer  land-rape  with 
all  its  verdure  and  fruits  and  flowers  was  never  m 
lovely  than  this  transitory  scene  of  beauty.  Vt  the 
brilliancy  of  this  spectacle,  like  the  rainbow  in  heaven, 
passes  away  almost  while  we  are  gazing  on  its  fanta 
splendor.  A  brisk  current  of  wind  scatters  from  the 
branches,  like  the  fading  leaves  of  autumn,  all  tin'  false 


412  JANUARY. 

honors  that  have  garlanded  the  forests,  and  in  an  hour 
they  have  disappeared  forever. 

Beside  the  pleasing  objects  already  described  as  pecul- 
iar to  the  season,  there  are  many  beautiful  appearances 
formed  by  the  freezing  of  waters  and  the  crystallization 
of  vapors  which  one  can  never  cease  to  examine  with 
delight.  One  of  the  most  brilliant  spectacles  of  this  kind 
is  displayed  on  a  frosty  morning,  after  the  prevalence  of 
a  damp  sea-breeze.  The  crystals,  almost  imperceptibly 
minute,  are  distributed,  like  the  delicate  filaments  of  the 
microscopic  mosses,  over  the  withered  herbs  and  leafless 
shrubbery,  creating  a  sort  of  mimic  vegetation  in  the  late 
abodes  of  the  flowers.  Vast  sheets  of  thin  ice  overspread 
the  plains,  beneath  which  the  water  has  sunk  into  the 
earth,  leaving  the  vacant  spots  of  a  pure  whiteness,  and 
forming  hundreds  of  little  fairy  circles  of  a  peculiarly 
fantastic  appearance.  The  ferns  and  sedges  that  lift  up 
their  bended  blades  and  feathers  through  the  plates  of 
ice,  coated  with  millions  of  crystals,  resemble,  while 
sparkling  in  the  rays  of  the  sun,  the  finest  jewelry. 
After  a  damp  and  frosty  night,  these  appearances  are 
singularly  beautiful,  and  all  the  branches  of  the  trees 
glitter  with  them  as  if  surrounded  with  a  network  of 
diamonds. 

These  exhibitions  of  frostwork  are  still  more  magnifi- 
cent at  waterfalls,  where  a  constant  vapor  arises  with  the 
spray  and  deposits  upon  the  icicles  that  hang  from  the 
projecting  rocks  a  plumage  resembling  the  finest  ermine. 
Some  of  the  icicles,  by  a  constant  accumulation  of  water' 
which  is  always  dripping  from  the  crags,  have  attained 
the  size  of  pillars,  that  seem  almost  to  support  the  shelv- 
ing rocks  from  which  they  are  suspended.  The  foam  of 
the  water  has  been  frozen  into  large  white  masses,  like 
a  snow-bank  in  appearance,  but  as  solid  as  ice.  The 
shrubs  that  project  from  the  crevices  of  the  rocks  are 


JANUARY.  ;  ; ; 

clad  in  a  full  armor  of  variegated  icicles;  and  wheD  the 
slanting  rays  of  the  sun  penetrate  into  1 1n 
they  illuminate  them  with  a  dazzling  brilliancy;  and 
it  seems  as  if  the  nymphs,  that  sit  by  these  fountains, 
had  decorated  them  as  the  portals  to  that  inner  temple 
of  Nature,  whence  are  the  issues  of  all  that  is  lovely 
and  beautiful  on  earth. 

Thus,  when  the  delightful  objects  of  summer 
perished,  endless  sources  of  amusement  and  delight  are 
still  provided  for  the  mind  and  the  senses.  Though  tin: 
singing-bird  has  fled  from  the  orchard  and  the  rustling 
of  green  leaves  is  heard  no  longer  in  the  haunts  of  the 
little  mountain  streams,  there  are  still  many  tilings  to 
attract  attention  by  their  beauty  or  their  sublimity. 
"Whether  we  view  the  frosts  that  decorate  the  herb 
in  the  morning,  or  the  widespread  loveliness  of  the  snow 
on  a  moonlight  evening,  the  sublimity  of  heaven  seems 
to  rest  upon  the  face  of  the  earth  and  we  behold  with 
rapt  emotions  every  terrestrial  scene.  The  universe,  full 
of  these  harmonies,  yields  never-ending  themes  for  study 
and  meditation,  to  absorb  and  delight  the  mind  that  is 
ever  searching  after  knowledge,  and  to  raise  the  bouI 
above  the  clods  of  the  valley  to  that  invisible  P  wer 
that  dwells  throughout  all  space. 

I  never  listen  to  the  shrill  voice  of  the  woodpecker, 
within  the  deep  shelters  of  the  forest,  or  to  the  lively 
notes  of  the  chickadee,  which  alternate  with  the  sound 
of  winds  among  the  dry  rustling  leaves,  withoul   feeling 
a  sudden  and  delightful  transport.      1  cannot  help   in- 
dulging the  fancy,  that  Nature  has  purposely  endov 
these  active  birds  with  a  hardihood  almost   miraculi 
endure  the  severity  of  winter,  that  they  mighl    always 
remain  to  cheer  the  loneliness  of  these  wintry  solitud 
For  no  clime  or  season  has  Nature  omitted  t"  ]'i"N 
blessings  for  those  who  are  willing  to  receive  them,  and 


414  JANUARY. 

in  winter,  wheresoever  we  turn,  we  find  a  thousand  pleas- 
ant recompenses  for  our  privations.  The  Naiad  still  sits 
by  her  fountain,  at  the  foot  of  the  valley,  distributing  her 
favors  to  the  husbandman  and  his  flocks ;  and  the  echoes 
still  repeat  their  voices  from  the  summits  of  the  hills  and 
send  them  over  the 'plains,  with  multiplied  reverberations, 
to  cheer  the  hearts  of  all  living  creatures. 


FACTS  THAT  PEOVE  THE  UTILITY  OF    BODS 

The  consequences  which  have  followed  the  destruction 
of  birds  in  many  well-authenticated  instances  are  suffi- 
cient to  demonstrate  their  utility.  Professor  Jenks  men- 
tions a  case  communicated  by  one  of  his  female  ci  >rresp<  ind- 
ents. In  former  times,  as  she  had  been  told  by  her  father, 
an  annual  shooting-match  was  customary  on  election  day 
in  May.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  about  the  year  L820, 
in  North  Bridgewater,  Mass.,  the  birds  were  killed  in  such 
quantities  that  cart-loads  of  them  were  sent  to  farmers  for 
compost.  Then  followed  a  great  scarcity  of  birds  in  all 
that  vicinity.  The  herbs  soon  showed  signs  of  injury. 
Tufts  of  withered  grass  appeared  and  spread  out  widely 
into  circles  of  a  seared  and  burnt  complexion.  Though 
the  cause  and  effect  were  so  near  each  other,  they  w< 
not  logically  put  together  by  the  inhabitants  at  that  time. 
Modern  entomology  would  have  explained  to  them  the 
cause  of  the  phenomena,  by  the  increase  of  the  larva  of 
insects  which  were  previously  kept  in  check  by  tin-  birds 
destroyed  at  the  shooting-match. 

After  the  abolition  of  the  game-laws  in  France,  at  the 
close  of  the  last  century,  the  people,  having  been  a<  cus- 
tomed to  regard  birds  as  the  property  of  great  land-own 
destroyed  them  without  limit.     Every  species  of 
including  even  the  small  singing-birds,  was  in  danger  ol 
extermination.     It  was  found  necessary  to  protect   them 
bylaws   that  forbade  hunting  at  certain   seasons, 
most  serious  evils  were  the  consequence.     The  farm< 
crops  were  destroyed  by  insects,  and   the   orchards   pi 


416         FACTS   THAT   PROVE   THE  UTILITY   OF   BIRDS. 

ducecl  no  fruit.  It  is  only  by  sucli  unfortunate  experi- 
ence that  men  can  learn  that  the  principal  value  of  birds 
does  not  consist  alone  in  their  flesh  or  in  their  power  of 
conferring  pleasure  by  their  songs. 

Some  years  ago,  in  Virginia  and  North  Carolina,  several 
tracts  of  forest  were  attacked  by  a  malady  that  caused 
the  trees  to  perish  over  hundreds  of  acres.  A  traveller 
passing  through  that  region  inquired  of  a  countryman  if 
he  knew  the  cause  of  the  devastation.  He  replied  that  the 
mischief  was  all  done  by  the  woodpeckers,  and  though 
the  inhabitants  had  killed  great  numbers  of  them,  there 
still  remained  enough  to  bore  into  the  trees  and  destroy 
them.  The  traveller,  not  satisfied  with  this  account, 
made  some  investigations,  and  soon  convinced  them  that 
the  cause  of  the  mischief  was  the  larva  of  a  species  of 
Buprestis,  which  had  multiplied  without  limits.  This 
larva  was  the  favorite  food  of  the  woodpeckers,  which  had 
congregated  in  that  region  lately  on  account  of  its  abun- 
dance. He  showed  them  that  they  were  protecting  the 
real  destroyers  of  the  forest  by  warring  against  the 
woodpeckers,  which,  if  left  unmolested,  would  soon  eradi- 
cate the  pest  sufficiently  to  save  the  remaining  timber. 
Birds  become  accustomed  to  certain  localities,  and  if  by 
any  accident  they  should  be  exterminated  in  any  one 
region  insects  of  all  kinds  will  increase,  until  the  birds 
that  consume  them  are  slowly  attracted  to  them  from 

other  parts. 

In  the  year  1798,  in  the  forests  of  Saxony  and  Bran- 
denburg, the  greater  part  of  the  trees,  especially  the  coni- 
fers, died,  as  if  struck  at  the  roots  by  some  secret  malady. 
The  foliage  had  not  been  attacked,  and  the  trees  perished 
without  any  manifest  external  cause.  The  Regency  of 
Saxony  sent  naturalists  and  foresters  to  investigate  the 
conditions.  They  proved  the  malady  to  be  caused  by  the 
multiplication  of  a  species  of  lepidopterous  insects,  which 


FACTS  THAT  PROVE   THE   UTILITY   OF   BIBDS.  117 

had  in  its  larva  state  penetrated  into  the  wood.  Wher- 
ever a  bough  of  fir  or  pine  was  broken,  the  larva  ■ 
found,  and  had  often  hollowed  it  out  even  to  the  bark. 
The  report  of  the  naturalists  declared  that  the  extraordi- 
nary increase  of  this  insect  was  owing  to  the  entire  dis- 
appearance of  several  species  of  titmouse,  which  for  some 
years  past  had  not  been  seen  in  that  region. 

According  to  an  account  given  by  Buffon,  the  [ale  of 
Bourbon,  where  there  were  no  grackles,  was  overrun  with 
locusts  imported  in  the  eggs  contained  in  the  soil  which 
with  some  plants  had  been  brought  from  Madagascar. 
The  Governor-General,  as  a  means  of  extirpating  i; 
insects,  caused  several  pairs  of  Indian  grackles  to  be 
brought  into  the  island.  When  the  birds  had  considera- 
bly increased,  some  of  the  colonists,  seeing  them  very  dili- 
gent in  the  newly  sown  fields,  imagined  them  in  quest  of 
the  grain,  and  reported  that  they  did  more  mischief  than 
good.  -Accordingly  they  were  proscribed  by  the  Council, 
and  in  two  hours  after  their  sentence  was  pronoun* 
not  a  grackle  was  to  be  seen  on  the  island.  The  people 
soon  had  cause  for  repentance.  The  locusts  multiplied 
without  check  and  became  a  pest.  After  a  few  years 
experience,  the  grackles  were  again  introduced,  and  their 
breeding  and  preservation  were  made  a  state  affair.  The 
birds  multiplied  and  the  locusts  disappeared. 

Kalm,  a  pupil  of  Linnaeus,  remarks  in  his  "  Travels  in 
America,"  that  after  a  great  destruction  of  purple  grackles 
for  the  legal  reward  of  threepence  per  dozen,  the  Northern 
States  in  1749  experienced  a  total  loss  of  the  grain  and 
grass  crops  from  the  devastation  of  insects  and  their  lai 
The  crows  of  North  America  were  some  years  sin 
nearly  exterminated,  to  obtain  the  premiums  offered  for 
their  heads,  that  the  increase  of  insects  was  alarming,  and 
the  States  were  obliged  to  offer  bounties  for  the  prob 
tion  of  crows.     The  same  incidents  have  repeatedly  hap- 

18*  v  v 


418    FACTS  THAT  PROVE  THE  UTILITY  OF  BIRDS. 

pened  in  other  countries,  and  ought  to  convince  any 
reasoning  mind  that  all  the  native  species  of  insectivo- 
rous birds  are  needful,  and  that  one  or  any  number  of 
species  cannot  perform  the  work  which  would  have  been 
done  by  the  species  that  is  extirpated. 

"  An  aged  man  "  of  Virginia  remarks,  in  "  The  Southern 
Planter"  of  1860,  that  since  his  boyhood  there  has  been  a 
rapid  decrease  in  the  numbers  of  birds  and  a  proportional 
increase  of  insects.  Since  their  diminution  great  ravages 
have  been  committed  on  the  farmers'  crops  by  clover 
worms,  wire-worms,  cut-worms,  and  on  the  wheat  crops 
particularly  by  chinch-bugs,  Hessian  flies,  joint-worms, 
and  other  pests.  All  this  is  owing,  he  thinks,  to  the 
destruction  and  the  scarcity  of  birds.  He  alludes  par- 
ticularly to  the  diminution  of  woodpeckers  as  a  public 
calamity.  He  has  known  a  community  of  red-headed 
woodpeckers  to  arrest  the  destructive  progress  of  borers, 
in  a  pine  forest.  He  mentions  the  flicker  or  widgeon 
woodpecker  —  a  common  bird  in  New  England  —  as  the 
only  bird  he  ever  saw  pulling  out  grubs  from  the  roots  of 
peach-trees.  May  not  this  habit  of  the  flicker,  which  is 
a  very  shy  bird  because  he  is  hunted  for  his  flesh,  be 
the  cause  why  apple-trees  that  grow  near  a  wood  are  not 
affected  by  borers  ? 

The  alarming  increase  of  grasshoppers  in  some  parts  of 
the  Western  States,  is  undoubtedly  the  consequence  of 
the  wholesale  destruction  of  quails,  grouse,  and  other 
birds  in  that  region. 


BIRDS  OF  THE  FARM  AND  THE  FARM-YARD. 

It  is  not  easy  to  explain  why  certain  species  of  birds 
and  other  animals  are  susceptible  of  domestication,  while 
others  resist  all  efforts  to  inure  them  to  artificial  habits. 
The  mystery  is  increased  when  we  consider  that  individ- 
uals of  a  species  which  cannot  be  domesticated  may, 
when  reared  in  a  cage,  be  made  as  tame  as  the  tamest 
of  our  domestic  birds.  There  are  certain  families  of 
which  several  species  have  been  domesticated.  This  is 
true  of  the  Gallinaceous  tribe  and  of  the  Anseres.  Of 
the  former  are  the  Cock,  the  Turkey,  the  Pintado,  the 
Peacock.  Of  the  Anseres,  there  are  two  or  three  species 
of  Goose  and  several  species  of  Duck.  Several  of  the 
Pigeon  tribe  may  be  domesticated.  The  Rook  and  the 
House  Sparrow  of  England  may  also  be  regarded  as  in 
a  state  of  at  least  partial  domestication.  The  species 
anions  our  birds  that  comes  nearest  the  Rook  in  its  hab- 
its  is  the  Purple  Grackle.  That,  as  population  thickens, 
the  Grackles  will  assume  more  and  more  of  the  habits  of 
a  domestic  bird,  seems  not  improbable,  especially  if  they 
should  be  protected  for  their  valuable  services  to  agri- 
culture. 

THE  HOUSE   SPARROW. 

I  am  not  entirely  free  from  suspicions  that  by  natural- 
izing the  House  Sparrow  in  this  country,  we  have  intro- 
duced a  pest.  It  has  always  been  regarded  in  Europe  as 
a  mischievous  bird,  but  is  tolerated  because,  like  all  the 


420  BIRDS   OF   THE   FARM  AND   THE   FARM-YARD. 

Sparrow  family,  through  granivorous  for  the  most  part, 
it  destroys  great  quantities  of  grubs  and  insects  during 
its  breeding  -  season,  which  continues  several  months. 
Other  circumstances  that  render  the  bird  valuable  are 
its  domesticated  habits,  its  permanent  residence,  and  its 
proneness  to  live  and  multiply  in  the  city  as  well  as  the 
country.  The  little  Hair  Bird,  which  is  far  more  inter- 
esting and  musical,  is  not  a  permanent  resident,  and  can- 
not, from  its  habit  of  breeding  in  trees,  become  inured  to 
the  city.  Perhaps,  therefore,  it  need  not  be  feared  that 
the  multiplication  of  the  House  Sparrows  will  diminish 
the  number  of  our  native  birds.  But  I  cannot,  while 
dwelling  on  this  subject,  avoid  the  reflection  that  since 
our  people  are  resolutely  bent  on  the  destruction  of  our 
native  birds,  it  may  be  fortunate  that  there  exists  a  for- 
eign species  of  such  a  character  that,  like  the  white- weed 
and  the  witch-grass,  after  being  once  introduced,  they  can- 
not by  any  possible  human  efforts  be  extirpated.  When 
all  our  native  species  are  gone,  we  may  be  happy  to  hear 
the  unmusical  chatter  of  the  House  Sparrows,  and  gladly 
watch  them  and  protect  them,  as  we  should,  if  all  the 
human  race  had  perished  but  our  single  self,  welcome  the 
society  of  orang-otangs. 

I  am  pleased  to  learn  that  Dr.  Brewer  does  not  fear 
that  their  introduction  will  cause  any  evil  to  our  native 
birds.  If  I  were  entirely  satisfied  of  the  correctness  of 
his  opinion,  I  should  say  welcome  to  the  little  intru- 
ders. They  are  at  least  valuable  by  affording  amuse- 
ment to  children  who  are  confined  to  cities,  and  who  may 
watch  and  feed  them  where,  if  they  were  absent,  but  few 
other  birds  would  be  seen.  But  I  will  leave  the  House 
Sparrow  to  treat  of  a  far  more  interesting  family  of  birds, 
the  common  Domestic  Pigeon. 


BIRDS  OF  THE  FARM  AND  THE  FARM-YARD.    421 

THE  DOVE. 

It  is  a  matter  of  curiosity  among  naturalists  that  Doves 
and  Pigeons,  which  are  active  and  powerful  on  the  wing 
beyond  any  known  species,  should  have  submitted  so 
readily  to  domestication.  Their  power  of  wing  and  con- 
sequent capacity  of  providing  food  for  themselves  at  great 
distances  from  their  habitations  must  render  them  quite 
independent  of  any  necessity  of  resorting  to  man's  pro- 
tection, like  the  gallinaceous  birds.  Yet  they  have  prob- 
ably been  domesticated,  like  the  common  fowl,  from  im- 
memorial time.  The  Dove  is  a  bird  which  has  been 
sacred  in  all  ages  as  an  emblem  of  constancy,  while 
hardly  a  gallinaceous  bird  could  be  named  that  does  not 
in  its  moral  habits  represent  the  political  theory  of  free 
love.  Ornithologists  have  lately  removed  the  Dove  into 
a  separate  family,  reclassing  it  as  distinct  from  all  other 
birds.  Doves  are,  in  a  wild  state,  very  powerful  on  the 
wing;  but,  having  small  feet  and  legs,  they  are  awkward 
and  feeble  walkers.  The  Goose  is  said  to  fly  to  a  greater 
height  than  any  other  bird ;  but  none  can  equal  wild 
Pigeons  in  swuftness.  This  power  of  flight  is  of  great 
service  to  them  when  foraging ;  for  they  can  have  a  roost 
in  Virginia  and  sally  forth  in  any  direction  fifty  miles 
to  obtain  a  breakfast,  and  return  sooner  than  the  steam- 
cars  could  perform  the  journey  in  one  direction. 

The  Dove,  —  the  most  amiable  of  birds,  consecrated  to 
some  of  the  kindest  virtues  of  the  human  soul,  dedicated 
in  ancient  times  to  Venus,  whose  chariot  was  drawn  by 
two  Doves,  —  like  a  sweet  maiden  who  neither  Haunts 
nor  glitters,  but  gains  admiration  solely  by  her  innocence 
and  her  beauty,  is  very  properly  considered  the  symbol 
of  purity  and  holiness.  Holy  Spirit  and  Heavenly  Dove 
are,  in  the  poetry  of  Christianity,  synonymous  expres- 
sions.    The  Dove,  in  Biblical  Fable,  that  was  sent  out 


422     BIRDS  OF  THE  FARM  AND  THE  FARM-YARD. 

by  Xoali  to  determine  the  condition  of  the  earth  after 
this  great  captain  and  his  family  had  become  weary  of 
navigating  the  Ark,  brought  back  the  olive-branch,  which, 
like  its  feathered  bearer,  has  ever  since  been  regarded  as 
the  emblem  of  peace. 

The  Dove  is  more  completely  domesticated  than  the 
Quail  could  be  under  any  circumstances.  But  it  is  al- 
most exclusively  granivorous,  and  is  not  so  useful  a  bird 
as  the  Quail,  flocks  of  which,  if  protected  by  providing 
them  food  and  shelter,  would  frequent  our  orchards,  and 
rid  the  trees  entirely  of  the  canker-worms  by  picking 
up  the  insects  that  generate  them  before  they  have 
climbed  the  tree.  Mr.  George  W.  Pace  of  West  Xewton 
has  for  several  years  past  kept  his  apple-trees  free  from 
canker-worms  by  means  of  early  chickens.  He  binds  a 
raw  cotton  band  round  the  tree  very  near  the  ground. 
Before  the  insects  have  time  to  creep  over  this  obstacle, 
they  are  caught  by  the  hens  and  chickens,  so  that  not 
more  than  one  in  a  hundred  escapes. 

Doves  of  all  species  seem  to  be  very  similar  in  their 
manners.  Almost  the  only  notes  they  utter  are  a  gentle 
cooing,  and  if  you  scare  one  it  does  not  scream,  like 
other  birds,  but  makes  only  a  low  moaning.  Hence 
arose  the  reputation  of  the  Dove  for  gentleness.  Yet  it 
is  not  without  spirit  or  courage.  "When  a  boy  I  had  a 
flock  of  thirty  pigeons,  all  white.  I  watched  them  so 
attentively  that  I  learned  all  their  peculiar  habits,  the 
constancy  of  the  mated  female,  the  gallantry  of  all  males 
toward  unmated  females,  and  the  courage  with  which 
both  sexes  would  defend  their  place  and  nest.  I  could 
distinguish  each  one  of  the  flock  from  all  the  rest,  and 
had  a  name  for  each.  They  were  all  black-eyed  but  one, 
and  this  one  had  a  slight  tinge  of  lilac  upon  its  white 
feathers,  and  its  eyes  were  light  gray.  The  common  slate- 
colored  Pigeon  has  red  eyes. 


BIRDS  OF  THE  FARM  AND  THE  FARM-YARD.    42 


o 


THE    TURTLE-DOVE. 

The  first  wild  bird  I  captured  and  tamed  in  my  boy- 
hood was  taken  from  the  nest  of  a  Carolina  Turtle- 
Dove.  The  nest  was  placed  upon  the  horizontal  branches 
of  a  small  white  pine  about  fifteen  feet  from  the  ground. 
It  was  made  of  slender  twigs  put  together  as  carelessly 
as  if  they  had  fallen  from  some  branches  above,  and  were 
levelled,  but  not  hollowed,  by  the  parent  birds.  The 
nest  contained  a  single  white  egg,  more  roundish  in  its 
shape  than  that  of  the  common  tame  Pigeon.  I  took  the 
young  bird  from  the  nest  when  it  was  nearly  ready  to 
fly.  I  fed  it  exclusively  upon  farinaceous  food,  and  was 
successful  in  rearing  it.  It  grew  very  tame,  and  behaved 
like  the  young  of  a  domesticated  Dove.  It  often  flew 
away  in  quest  of  food  and  regularly  returned,  and  was  so 
docile  as  to  sit  upon  my  hand.  I  exchanged  the  bird,  to 
gratify  one  of  my  schoolmates,  for  a  volume  of  Peter 
Pindar's  works,  which  I  read  over  and  over  again  with 
great  delight,  and  a  volume  of  President  Monroe's  Tour, 
which  I  used  for  kindling-paper. 

After  I  had  taken  the  bird  from  the  nest  I  heard  for 
more  than  a  week  the  almost  uninterrupted  cooing  or 
moaning  of  the  parents,  or  one  of  them,  upon  an  old 
white  oak  that  stood  in  a  field  near  my  boarding-house, 
which  was  almost  surrounded  by  woods.  This  oak  was 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  nest,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  the  old  birds  had  in  some  way  or  other  a  suspicion 
of  the  fact  that  the  young  one  had  been  removed  in  this 
direction  from  the  nest.  To  listen  to  the  "mourning 
Dove"  was  a  romantic  incident  that  gave  me  so  much 
satisfaction  that  it  entirely  absorbed  all  the  sympathy  I 
was  disposed  to  feel  for  the  bereaved  parents.  The  young 
Dove  was  shot  soon  after  I  parted  witli  it  by  one  of  the 
pioneers  of  Christian  civilization,  a  Divinity  Student. 


424    BIRDS  OF  THE  FARM  AND  THE  FARM-YARD. 

Turtle-Doves  are  now  rarely  seen  in  New  England,  but 
they  are  common  in  other  States.  In  this  centre  of  en- 
lightenment there  is  plenty  of  cant  about  mercy  to  birds 
and  other  creatures ;  there  are  whole  encyclopaedias  of 
rhymes  written  about  the  "  beautiful  and  innocent  birds." 
But  the  rhymes  and  the  cant  go  hand  in  hand  with  the 
snare,  the  gun,  and  strychnine ;  as  the  Bible  and  mission- 
aries sail  lovingly  together  with  rum  and  gunpowder,  to 
Africa  and  other  regions  of  moral  darkness,  sent  onward 
by  the  same  persons  and  the  same  funds.  There  may  be 
some  desire  in  many  hearts  for  the  preservation  of  our 
birds ;  but  it  is  with  our  sentimentalists  as  with  our  poli- 
ticians, sentiment  must  give  way  to  peas  and  strawberries 
as  principle  must  give  way  to  party  and  personal  ambition. 
It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  the  possession  of  a  single 
cherry-tree  or  one  bed  of  strawberries  will  turn  the  most 
lachrymatory  sentimentalist  into  a  rabid  exterminator  of 
the  feathered  race. 

THE   COCK. 

I  should  be  guilty  of  a  great  omission,  if  in  my  de- 
scriptions of  interesting  birds  I  were  to  say  nothing  of  the 
common  Cock,  the  true  Bird  of  Morn  in  every  country ; 
the  monitor  who  never  fails  to  give  the  inmates  of  the 
house  notice  of  the  dawn  of  day.  So  intimately  is  this 
'bird  allied  with  the  morning,  that  the  dawn  is  always 
designated  as  the  hour  of  cock-crowing.  If  he  should 
cease  hereafter  faithfully  to  announce  the  earliest  ap- 
proach of  day,  we  should  look  upon  him  as  one  who  had 
lost  the  most  remarkable  trait  in  his  character.  But,  like 
other  birds  that  sing  by  night,  he  is  often  deceived  by  the 
light  of  the  moon,  when  it  rises  past  midnight,  mistaking 
its  beams  for  the  promise  of  dawn. 

The  Cock  is  a  bird  of  the  East,  and  is  by  nature  ad- 
dicted to  Eastern  customs  and  habits.     He  is  furnished 


BIRDS  OF  THE  FARM  AND  THE  FARM- YARD.    425 

with  spurs  with  which  he  is  expected  to  fight  for  the 

possession  of  as  many  females  as  he  can  procure  by 
slaying  his  rivals.  He  knows  no  such  feeling  as  an 
exclusive  attachment  to  a  single  mate.  He  is  a  bird 
neither  of  sentiment  nor  principle.  His  crowing  is  but 
sound  of  triumph  and  exultation  which  is  designed  to 
notify  all  his  brood  of  wives  of  his  presence  and  of  his 
power  to  defend  them,  and  his  defiance  to  other  males 
who  should  venture  to  claim  any  one  of  the  numerous 
members  of  his  harem.  His  example  has  always  been 
copied  by  the  kings  and  sultans  of  the  East.  There  is 
only  this  difference,  —  that  the  Cock  obtains  by  his 
prowess  what  the  sultan  obtains  by  wealth  and  political 
authority,  aided  and  countenanced  by  the  deity  whom  he 
worships.  But  if  Solomon  was  like  Chanticleer  in  his 
customs,  we  might  apply  to  him  a  quotation  from  the 
Xew  Testament:  "That  even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory 
was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these." 

The  variety  of  plumage  which  is  displayed  by  this  bird 
in  his  domesticated  state  surpasses  that  of  any  known 
species.  It  is  remarkable,  however,  that  lie  has  very  few 
pure  colors.  He  has  no  pure  yellow,  nor  blue,  nor  crim- 
son, nor  scarlet,  nor  vermilion.  But  there  is  a  brilliancy 
about  these  neutralized  colors  and  there  are  fine  contrasts 
in  their  arrangement  giving  splendor  to  certain  varieties 
of  this  bird  that  cannot  be  surpassed.  There  are  some 
which  are  pure  white  and  others  pure  black".  In  these 
varieties  the  male  and  female  differ  but  slightly  in  color. 
In  other  varieties,  if  the  female  is  brown,  the  male  is  red ; 
if  the  female  is  black,  with  neck-feathers  grayish  striped, 
the  male  is  black,  with  neck  and  saddle  feathers  of  a 
bright  buff  color.  If  the  female  is  all  gray,  the  male  is 
gray,  with  neck  and  saddle  white  and  tail  black.  Several 
of  these  contrasts  are  very  beautiful.  The  long  silken 
feathers  of  the  neck  and  saddle  distinguish  the  Cock  from 


426    BIRDS  OF  THE  FARM  AND  THE  FARM- YARD. 

almost  every  other  bird  save  the  Pheasant.  The  Peacock, 
the  Turkey,  and  the  Guinea-Fowl  are  destitute  of  these 
marks. 

THE  TURKEY. 

The  Turkey  is  not  so  interesting  a  bird  as  the  Cock. 
He  is  neither  so  lively  nor  so  courageous.  His  gobbling 
is  not  so  musical  as  the  crowing  of  the  Cock,  nor  is  it 
in  any  respect  a  sentinel  sound.  He  resembles  the  Pea- 
cock in  many  ways,  but  does  not  equal  him  in  beauty. 
But  the  wild  Turkey  is  said  to  be  in  all  respects  more 
beautiful  than  the  tame  one.  There  was  formerly  some 
controversy  respecting  the  American  origin  of  this  bird. 
Beside  the  whimsical  Daines  Barrington,  many  eminent 
naturalists  supposed  Africa  to  be  its  native  country.  Buf- 
fon,  however,  eloquently  supported  its  claims  to  be  con- 
sidered an  American  bird.  C.  L.  Buonaparte  says,  the 
first  Turkey  that  garnished  a  feast  in  France  was  served 
up  at  the  wedding  banquet  of  Charles  the  Ninth  in  the 
year  1570.  This  was  also  the  date  of  the  general  intro- 
duction of  the  Turkey  into  Europe  as  a  domestic  bird. 

Dr.  Franklin  wrote  a  characteristic  piece  of  humor  on 
the  substitution  of  the  Turkey  for  the  Bald  Eagle  as  the 
emblematic  representative  of  our  country.  The  Bald 
Eagle  he  considers  a  bird  of  bad  moral  character,  who 
gets  his  living  by  dishonest  means.  Like  a  robber  he 
watches  the  Fish  Hawk,  and  when  he  has  caught  a  fish, 
pounces  upon  him  and  takes  it  away  from  him.  Withal, 
he  is  a  rank  coward,  and  permits  himself  to  be  driven  out 
of  the  district  by  the  little  Kingbird.  He  confesses, 
therefore,  that  he  is  not  displeased  that  the  figure  is  not 
recognized  as  a  Bald  Eagle,  but  looks  more  like  a  Turkey. 
The  Turkey  is  a  more  respectable  bird,  and  a  true  native 
of  America.  He  is  also,  though  a  little  vain  and  silly 
(and,  as  the  Doctor  expresses  it,  "  not  the  worse  emblem 


BIRDS   OF   THE   FARM  AND   THE   FARM-YARD.         427 

on  that  account "),  a  bird  of  courage,  and  would  not  hesi- 
tate to  attack  a  grenadier  of  the  British  Guards  who 
should  invade  his  grounds  with  a  red  coat  on. 

Wild  Turkeys  were  formerly  not  uncommon  in  the 
woods  of  New  England.  If  any  still  remain  they  will 
not  long  escape  the  besom  of  civilization  and  progress. 
The  Turkey  will  vanish  with  the  Turtle-Dove  and  the 
Quail,  and  go  where  arithmetic  and  trigonometry  have 
not  yet  mapped  out  the  wilderness  into  auction-lots. 

THE  GOOSE. 

The  Goose  is  truly  a  pastoral  bird.  Though  it  uses 
animal  food,  it  lives  more  upon  grain  and  by  grazing, 
like  cattle  and  sheep.  It  is  not  a  sea  fowl.  It  devours 
some  insects,  but  does  not  take  fishes,  and  resorts  to  the 
water  chiefly  at  night,  where  it  retires  to  rest,  for  security. 
It  is  the  pastoral  habit  of  the  Goose  that  renders  it  so  fit 
a  subject  for  domestication.  On  the  same  account  it  is  a 
better  walker  than  the  Duck,  that  passes  the  greater  part 
of  its  time  in  the  water,  feeding  upon  the  aquatic  vege- 
tables that  grow  in  the  shallows  and  upon  such  insects 
as  are  found  among  them.  The  Goose,  notwithstanding 
the  general  habit  among  us  of  using  its  name  as  the 
superlative  of  folly,  is  an  intelligent  bird.  The  proverb 
"  silly  as  a  Goose "  would  be  more  correctly  applied  to 
a  Hen  or  a  Turkey. 

The  Goose  has  no  special  beauty  of  plumage.  Its  colors 
seldom  vary  from  white  and  black  and  gray.  The  wild 
Goose  of  America  greatly  surpasses  the  common  domesti- 
cated species  in  beauty,  having  some  fine  shades  of  green 
and  purple  on  the  black  feathers  of  its  long  swan-like 
neck.  Charles  "Waterton  says  of  this  species,  which  has 
been  very  generally  domesticated  in  Great  Britain:  "There 
can  be  nothing  more  enlivening  to  rural  solitude  than  the 


428    BIRDS  OF  THE  FARM  AND  THE  FARM- YARD. 

trumpet-sounding  notes  of  the  Canada  Goose.  They  may 
be  heard  at  most  hours  of  the  day  and  during  the  night. 
But  spring  is  the  time  when  these  birds  are  most  vocifer- 
ous. Then  it  is  that  they  are  on  the  wing,  moving  in 
aerial  circles  round  the  mansion  ;  now  rising  aloft,  now 
dropping  into  the  water,  with  such  notes  of  apparent  joy 
and  revelling  as  cannot  fail  to  attract  the  attention  of 
those  who  feel  an  interest  in  the  wildest  scenery." 

Wild  Geese  and  other  birds  of  the  same  family  assem- 
ble, not  in  myriads,  like  Pigeons  and  Blackbirds,  but  in 
such  limited  flocks  as  admit  of  organization  and  geomet- 
ric arrangement.  Geese  sometimes  fly  in  a  straight  line  ; 
but  more  frequently  make  a  triangular  figure,  that  permits 
each  one  in  the  rear  to  see  its  leader.  Some  naturalists  say 
that  Geese  fly  to  a  greater  height  than  any  other  bird ; 
others  say  they  are  surpassed  by  Herons.  They  are  often, 
however,  at  so  great  height  that  they  may  be  heard,  when 
nothing  more  of  them  than  a  black  line  can  be  seen.  Be- 
fore  they  alight  upon  the  ground  they  form  a  straight  line, 
probably  without  any  purpose  but  from  the  habit  of  ar- 
ranging themselves  in  a  single  rank  and  file  when  flying. 
Having  taken  their  rest  for  a  few  hours,  the  sentinel  gives 
the  signal  note,  when  they  all  rise  again,  form  the  same 
triangular  group,  and  pursue  their  mysterious  journey  to 
a  southern  clime. 

Naturalists  are  not  agreed  respecting  the  character  of 
the  leader  of  these  flocks.  Some  believe  that  an  old  gan- 
der who  has  previously  made  the  journey  takes  the  lead. 
Others  assert  that  each  one  of  the  flock  takes  his  turn  in 
being  leader.  It  seems  to  me  highly  probable  that  neither 
of  these  assumptions  is  correct ;  but  on  the  other  hand, 
that  the  leadership  is  a  matter  of  chance,  except  that  the 
most  powerful  individuals  would  usually  happen  to  place 
themselves  at  the  head  of  the  flock,  being  naturally  the 
most  active  and  vigorous,  the  first  to  rise  from  the  ground 


BIRDS  OF  THE  FARM  AND  THE  FARM-YARD.    429 

and  the  swiftest  to  gain  the  foremost  position.  It  is  ab- 
surd to  suppose  that  these  birds  in  their  migrations  are 
directed  by  the  knowledge  and  experience  of  a  few  older 
ones.  Urged  by  a  powerful  impulse,  if  the  old  birds 
were  all  destroyed,  the  young  flock,  when  the  proper  time 
arrived  for  their  migratory  flight,  would  proceed  on  their 
journey  as  instinctively  as  they  would  konk  instead  of 
crowing  like  a  Cock. 

THE   DUCK. 

Ducks  are  by  far  the  most  beautiful  of  all  aquatic  birds 
in  the  colors  of  their  plumage.  Other  genera  of  this  fam- 
ily seldom  show  any  hues  except  a  various  mixture  of 
white  and  gray.  The  plumage  of  several  species  of  the 
Duck  is  of  many  colors  and  finely  variegated.  This 
beautiful  lustre  is  remarkable  in  the  drake  of  the  Mallard, 
of  the  Teal,  and  above  all  of  the  Summer  Duck.  Of  the 
latter,  both  male  and  female  are  beautiful,  and  the  species 
was  named  by  Linnaeus,  on  account  of  its  beauty,  sjionsa, 
a  bride.  Its  pendent  crest  of  green  and  purple  hanging 
from  the  back  of  its  head ;  its  neck  of  purple-crimson, 
changing  in  front  to  a  glossy  brown,  speckled  with  white ; 
its  wings  and  tail  of  metallic  green,  changeable  into  blue 
and  crimson, —  its  endless  varieties,  indeed,  of  changeable 
hues  cause  it  to  surpass  in  beauty  all  the  birds  of  our 
woods  and  waters. 

It  is  not  often  that  we  have  an  opportunity  of  watch- 
ing for  any  considerable  time  the  manoeuvres  of  wild 
Geese  or  wild  Ducks  upon  the  water.  We  must  observe 
the  motions  of  the  domesticated  birds  to  learn  those  of 
the  wild  ones,  making  allowance  for  less  dexterity,  as  the 
consequence  of  domestication.  The  flight  and  habits  of 
the  Duck  are  not  less  interesting  or  picturesque  than 
those  of  the  Goose.  Their  whistling  flocks  that  pass 
frequently  over  our  heads   at   different   seasons  always 


430         BIRDS   OF   THE  FARM  AND   THE   FARM-YARD. 

command  our  attention. .  Ducks  live  the  greater  part  of 
the  time  upon  the  water,  feeding  upon  the  plants  that 
grow  around  their  edges  and  borders.  Hence  they  prefer 
small  ponds  and  inlets  of  the  sea  to  the  bay  or  harbor. 
But,  like  almost  all  other  species  of  birds,  the  Duck  and 
the  Teal  are  rarely  seen  except  in  the  remote  lakes  of 
the  forest.  These  wild  birds  are  allowed  no  peace  and 
no  security.  I  cannot  see  what  is  to  prevent  their  utter 
extirpation  from  the  American  continent. 

The  Black  Duck  seems  more  nearly  allied  to  the  Mal- 
lard than  to  any  American  species.  It  has  been  repeat- 
edly domesticated,  and  mixes  with  the  Mallard,  and  the 
mixed  offspring  have  none  of  the  marks  and  qualities  of 
hybrids.  The  drake  of  this  species  has  not  the  beauty 
of  the  Mallard  drake.  Flocks  of  them  are  common  in 
the  autumn  in  some  of  our  solitary  inlets  or  near  our 
harbors ;  and  they  formerly  reared  their  young  in  Massa- 
chusetts. They  have  been  driven  away  by  gunners,  and 
they  now  breed  only  in  the  northern  parts  of  New  Eng- 
land, especially  near  the  lakes  of  Maine.  Samuels  found 
the  nest  of  one  on  a  low  stump,  that  overhung  a  small 
spring  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  a  mile  from  any  water.  He 
says  these  nests  are  abundant  all  round  Lake  Umbagog. 
When  the  fresh  ponds  are  frozen,  the  Ducks  resort  to  the 
salt  water,  and  are  often  seen,  in  flocks  of  considerable 
size,  in  our  harbors  and  salt-water  creeks  in  winter. 


THE   SWAN. 

If  the  Duck  is  the  most  beautifully  arrayed  of  all 
aquatic  birds,  the  Swan  is  certainly  the  most  graceful  and 
attractive  when  sailing  upon  the  water.  The  Swan  re- 
sembles the  Duck  more  than  the  Goose  in  its  feeding 
habits.  It  does  not  graze  like  the  Goose,  but  takes  its 
food  from  beneath  the  water,  often  probing  to  the  bottom 


BIRDS   OF   THE   FARM  AND   THE   FARM-YARD.  431 

of  shallow  waters  by  means  of  its  long  neck,  which  seems 
designed  for  this  purpose.  Wild  Swans  associate  in  small 
flocks,  separating  in  pairs  during  the  breeding-season,  and 
rising  in  large  companies  when  the  approach  of  winter 
warns  them  to  seek  a  more  genial  clime.  "When  they 
finally  take  their  migrating  flight,  they  divide  themselves 
again  into  small  flocks,  and  shape  their  course  after  the 
manner  of  Wild  Geese. 


THE   FLIGHT   OF  THE  WOOD-NYMPHS. 

Ox  the  southern  slope  of  a  hill,  nearly  in  the  entrance 
of  a  valley,  stood  a  rustic  cottage  inhabited  by  a  plain 
industrious  farmer  and  his  family.  The  farm  which  was 
connected  with  the  cottage  was  a  beautiful  intermixture 
of  wood,  tillage,  and  pasture ;  and,  imbosomed  in  these 
natural  groves,  the  glistening  waters  of  a  miniature  lake 
gave  animation  to  the  landscape,  and  became  a  scene  of 
rustic  sport  for  many  a  youthful  angler.  In  front  of  the 
cottage  was  an  irregular  grassy  slope,  extending  down  to 
the  roadside,  and  wholly  unenclosed.  Through  this  natural 
lawn  a  narrow  footpath,  leading  obliquely  from  the  road 
to  the  doorstep,  had  been  worn  by  the  feet  of  passengers ; 
tufts  of  wild  shrubbery  grew  here  and  there  about  the 
rocks  that  projected  from  the  surface  of  the  soil,  and  the 
sweet  fern  diffused  its  odors  within  a  rood  of  the  cottage 
windows.  In  the  evening  a  small  herd  of  cows  might 
be  seen,  quietly  ruminating  under  a  rugged  old  oak,  that 
stood  about  thirty  paces  from  the  house. 

In  the  month  of  May  this  place  was  a  favorite  resort 
for  all  the  children  of  the  village,  on  account  of  the  mul- 
titude and  variety  of  wild-flowers  that  grew  there,  and  the 
many  pleasant  arbors  afforded  by  the  woods  that  over- 
shadowed the  borders  of  the  lake.  On  these  green  hillsides 
thev  intent  often  be  seen  weaving  chains  of  the  stems  of 
dandelions,  or  stringing  white  and  blue  violets  upon  a 
thread,  with  which  they  made  garlands  and  necklaces  to 
add  to  their  own  simple  apparel.  Later  in  the  season, 
old  and  young  resorted  hither,  to  gather  berries  that  grew 


THE   FLIGHT   OF   THE   WOOD-NYMPHS.  433 

abundantly  in  these  grounds  and  the  neighboring  pastures. 
Many  a  May-queen  lias  been  crowned  with  the  trailing 
evergreens  that  abounded  in  all  the  wild  lands,  and  cov- 
ered the  meadows  with  verdure  in  the  depth  of  winter; 
and  the  children  have  returned  home  with  baskets  full  of 
checkerberries  and  garlanded  with  early  spring  flowers. 

There  was  something  about  the  whole  aspect  of  this 
place  that  was  unaccountably  delightful.  Every  one  who 
visited  it  felt  inspired  with  a  mysterious  sense  of  cheer- 
fulness and  pensive  delight,  that  could  hardly  be  ex- 
plained, as  there  wTere  in  the  same  region  many  magnifi- 
cent country-seats,  with  highly  ornamented  grounds,  that 
failed  in  awakening  any  such  emotions.  Here  nothing 
had  ever  been  done  to  add  a  single  ornament  to  the  face 
of  nature,  but  in  all  parts  of  the  landscape  there  wTas  a 
beauty  that  seemed  unattainable  by  art.  It  became  evi- 
dent at  last  that  these  groves  and  pastures  must  be  the 
residence  of  the  rural  deities,  who,  by  their  invisible 
presence,  inspired  every  heart  with  those  delightful  senti- 
ments which,  though  not  entirely  unfelt  on  earth,  are  well 
known  only  in  Paradise.  It  was  the  presence  of  these 
deities  that  yielded  the  place  its  mysterious  charms.  It 
was  the  naiad  who  gave  romantic  melody  to  the  fountain 
that  bubbled  up  from  the  mossy  glen  in  the  hillside,  and 
spread  the  hue  of  beauty  over  the  solitary  lake  in  the 
valley;  and  the  dryads,  or  wood-nymphs,  that  caused 
these  woodland  arbors  to  rival  the  green  retreats  of  Elys- 
ium. 

In  these  rural  solitudes  were  assembled  all  those  little 
harmless  animals,  which  by  their  motions  and  frolics 
serve  to  give  life  to  the  inanimate  scenes  of  nature.  Here 
were  not  only  all  the  familiar  birds  that  delight  in  the 
company  of  man;  but  all  the  less  familiar  species  that  love 
to  chant  their  wild  melodies  in  the  hiding-places  of  the 
solitary  echoes,  might  also  be  heard  in  the  season  of  song. 

1  9  B  D 


434  THE   FLIGHT   OF   THE  WOOD-NYMPHS. 

The  red-winged  starling,  long  exiled  from  our  villages, 
still  uttered  his  melancholy  ditty  among  the  willows  in 
the  valley,  and  wove  his  nest  among  the  tall  rushes  that 
rose  out  of  the  water.  The  ruff-necked  grouse  beat  his 
muffled  drum  in  the  adjoining  forest,  and  the  hermit- 
thrush  poured  forth  his  indescribable  strains,  like  some 
voice  that  had  wandered  from  the  groves  of  Idalia.  Even 
in  the  depth  of  winter  the  hearts  of  the  farmer  and  his 
family  were  cheered  by  a  multitude  of  merry  voices,  that 
seemed  to  be  peculiar  to  the  place. 

This  charming  spot  soon  became  celebrated  in  all  the 
country  around  for  its  romantic  beauties ;  and  it  was 
eagerly  coveted  by  many  people  of  wealth  who  were  seek- 
ing a  place  of  rural  retirement.  The  cottager  who  had 
lived  here  ever  since  his  birth  regarded  it  with  affection 
and  reverence,  as  his  own  paternal  homestead.  But  there 
are  not  many  who  can  resist  the  temptation  of  gold  to  make 
a  sacrifice  either  of  principle  or  affection,  and  the  rustic 
possessor  of  this  little  farm  was  not  one  of  them.  He  sold 
it  to  a  man  of  wealth  and  cultivated  taste,  whose  wife 
and  daughters  were  unaffected  lovers  of  nature,  and  who 
were  delighted  with  the  idea  of  occupying  a  place  that 
was  celebrated  as  the  resort  of  the  wood-nymphs  and 
other  deities  of  the  groves.  The  new  proprietor  deter- 
mined to  adorn  and  improve  it  to  the  utmost  extent.  He 
resolved  that  the  decorations  of  the  modern  landscape  art 
should  be  added  to  the  advantages  it  had  derived  from 
nature ;  the  beauties  of  other  climes  should  be  engrafted 
upon  it,  and  the  whole  work  should  be  crowned  with  the 
best  efforts  of  the  sculptor  and  the  architect. 

In  accordance  with  these  plans,  the  work  of  beautify- 
ing and  improving  the  place  was  commenced.  Standard 
English  works  on  landscape  gardening  were  consulted; 
the  great  Italian  painters  were  studied  for  hints  which 
Nature  is  supposed  to  communicate  only  through  their 


THE   FLIGHT    OF   THE   WOOD-NYMPHS.  435 

medium,  and  Brown  and  Repton  guided  the  taste  of  the 
improver  in  all  his  operations.  The  rustic  cottage  was 
removed  to  a  distant  spot,  and  a  splendid  Italian  villa 
was  erected  in  the  place  of  it.  No  labor  nor  money  was 
spared  in  the  effort  to  give  it  all  the  external  and  internal 
finish  which  would  be  needful  to  adorn  a  palace.  Every 
piece  of  work  was  tasteful  and  correct ;  no  counterfeit 
imitations  of  valuable  ornaments  were  allowed;  and  when 
the  edifice  was  completed,  the  most  scientific  architect 
could  find  no  fault  with  it.  It  stood  forth  proudly  on  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  villa  architec- 
ture. 

The  elegance  of  the  mansion  made  it  the  more  apparent 
that  the  grounds  must  be  improved,  that  the  appearance 
of  nature  mi^ht  harmonize  with  the  work  of  the  archi- 
tect.  On  the  grassy  slope  that  fronted  the  cottage,  there 
were  occasional  projections  of  the  rock  that  was  buried 
underneath  the  soil,  and.  around  them  various  species  of 
wild  shrubbery  had  come  up  in  many  a  tufted  knoll. 
These  prominences  were  split  off,  and  covered  with  loam, 
and  the  whole  surface  was  graded  into  a  beautifully  even 
and  rounded  lawn.  The  wood-anemone,  the  mouse-ear,  and 
the  saxifrage  no  longer  spangled  the  grassy  slope  in  early 
spring,  nor  the  aster  nor  the  golden-rod  stood  there  to  wel- 
come the  arrival  of  autumn.  But  tulips  grew  proudly  in 
a  fanciful  border  of  spaded  earth  under  the  side  windows 
in  the  opening  of  the  year,  and  verbenas,  portulaccas,  and 
calceolarias  outshone  all  the  native  summer  beauties  of 
the  landscape. 

Surrounding  the  fields  that  adjoined  the  cottage  was  an 
old  stone-wall,  gray  with  lichens  and  covered  witli  numer- 
ous wild  vines  that  had  clustered  round  it,  as  the  ivy 
intwines  itself  round  the  walls  of  ruined  castles  and 
abbeys  in  the  Old  World.  The  clematis  overshadowed  it 
with  flowers  and  foliage  in  summer,  and  with  its  beauti- 


436  THE   FLIGHT   OF   THE   WOOD-NYMPHS. 

ful  silken  down  in  the  fall  of  the  year  ;  and  the  celastrus 
grew  with  it  side  by  side,  offering  its  honeyed  flowers  to 
the  bee,  and  its  scarlet  bitter-sweet  berries  to  the  hand  of 
the  simpler,  or  to  the  famishing  winter  birds.  Among 
this  vinery  the  summer  warblers  built  their  nests  ;  and 
numbers  of  them  were  revealed  to  sight  when  the  foliage 
was  swept  away  by  the  late  autumnal  winds. 

The  ladies  of  the  mansion  would  not  readily  consent 
to  the  removal  of  this  old  stone  wall,  with  its  various  rus- 
tic appurtenances,  which  seemed  to  them  a  part  of  the 
original  charms  of  the  place ;  but  they  were  soon  con- 
vinced that  the  villa  ought  not  to  stand  in  the  midst  of 
such  shabby  "  surroundings."  They  were  plied  with  argu- 
ments drawn  from  the  works  of  men  who  had  studied  na- 
ture in  the  galleries  of  art  and  through  the  medium  of 
canvas,  and  were  persuaded  to  believe  that  the  principles 
of  English  landscape-gardening  must  never  be  sacrificed 
to  the  crude  notions  of  a  poetic  mind.  The  ladies  gave 
up  their  impulses  in  favor  of  the  cold  rules  of  professional 
taste.  The  stone  wall  was  removed ;  the  wild  rose  and 
the  eglantine  were  destroyed  ;  the  flowering  shrubs  that 
formed,  on  each  side  of  it,  a  glistening  row  of  bloom  and 
verdure,  were  rooted  up  ;  a  neat  paling  fence  was  erected 
as  a  temporary  boundary,  and  a  hedge  of  buckthorn  was 
planted  all  around  the  old  pasture  ! 

The  lawn  in  front  of  the  mansion  was  enclosed  by  an 
ornamental  fence,  and  the  narrow  footpath  that  led  up  to 
the  rude  doorstep  of  the  cottage,  meeting  in  its  course 
an  occasional  tuft  of  spiraea  and  low  laurel,  gave  place  to 
a  neatly  gravelled  walk,  four  feet  six  inches  wide,  and 
shaped  into  a  graceful  serpentine  curve.  The  enclosure 
was  filled  with  exotic  shrubbery  ;  and  silver  maples,  sil- 
ver poplars,  and  silver  firs  stood  at  proper  distances,  like 
sentinels  to  guard  the  portals  of  this  temple.  The  grounds 
were  likewise  embellished  with  statuary,  and  large  marble 


THE   FLIGHT    OF   THE   WOOD-NYMPHS.  437 

vases,  holding  some  flaunting  exotic,  stood  in  their  as- 
signed positions. 

Two  years  had  not  elapsed  before  the  design  of  the 
improver  was  completed,  and  the  whole  aspect  of  the 
place  was  changed,  as  if  by  enchantment.  The  rustic 
cart-paths  that  led  over  the  hills  and  through  the  woods 
and  valleys  were  widened  and  covered  with  a  neat  spread 
of  gravel,  and  all  their  crooked  outlines  were  trimmed 
into  a  graceful  shape.  An  air  of  neatness  was  apparent 
in  every  direction.  The  undergrowth  of  the  wood  was 
removed,  certain  misshapen  trees  were  cut  down,  and  all 
rubbish  was  taken  away  that  could  afford  a  harbor  for 
noxious  insects  or  mischievous  quadrupeds.  The  lake 
that  was  embroidered  with  alders,  swamp  roses,  button- 
bushes,  the  fragrant  clethra,  and  the  drooping  andromeda, 
was  improved  by  the  removal  of  all  these  useless  plants, 
and  gravel  and  loam  were  carted  down  to  its  edges,  which 
were  then  covered  with  soil  and  sowed  with  grass  seed, 
to  afford  a  neat  and  lawn-like  appearance  to  the  grounds, 
and  to  visitors  a  firm  foundation  for  their  feet.  The  fre- 
quent tufts  of  shrubbery  that  gave  a  ragged  look  to  the 
pasture  were  likewise  removed,  and  the  whole  was  planted 
with  the  most  approved  grasses. 

Not  many  rods  from  the  cottage  was  a  natural  fountain 
that  bubbled  up  from  a  subterranean  source  in  the  hill- 
side, from  which  the  farmer  irrigated  the  greater  part  of 
his  lands.  It  was  a  true  rustic  fountain,  girded  on  one 
side  by  steep  fern-clad  rocks,  and  overshadowed  by  the 
gnarled  and  twisted  brandies  of  the  tupelo,  one  of  the 
most  grotesque  and  beautiful  trees  in  the  forest.  From 
this  fountain  issued  a  rivulet,  which  was  conducted  ah  hilt 
the  declivity,  until  it  poured  its  waters  into  a  wooden 
trough,  and  formed  a  watering-place  for  the  cattle.  These 
objects  were  altogether  too  rude  to  be  admitted  as  a  part 
of  the  map  of  improvements.     The  bed  of  the  fountain 


438  THE   FLIGHT   OF   THE  WOOD-NYMPHS. 

was  excavated  into  a  deep  and  spacious  reservoir,  and 
from  this  a  pipe  was  carried  along  under  ground  to  the 
front  yard,  where  it  terminated  in  a  jet  d'eau,  that  issued 
from  a  marble  basin,  and  threw  up  a  wide  and  graceful 
spray. 

The  inmates  of  the  villa  were  charmed  with  the  result 
of  these  operations.  There  was  an  air  of  elegance  and 
"  high  keeping "  about  the  grounds,  that  corresponded 
judiciously  with  the  splendor  of  the  villa  and  its  out- 
buildings. No  wild  bushes  were  left  in  straggling  tufts, 
to  suggest  the  idea  of  poverty  or  negligence  on  the  part 
of  the  proprietor ;  and  the  pasture,  which  was  full  of  a 
great  variety  of  wild  plants  or  weeds,  was  repeatedly 
ploughed  and  pulverized  to  destroy  them,  and  afterwards 
"  laid  down  "  to  legitimate  English  grasses.  The  dande- 
lion and  buttercup  were  no  more  to  be  seen  in  the  spring, 
or  the  rank  hawkweed  in  the  autumn ;  through  this  lawn 
neat  gravel-walks  were  made,  that  visitors  might  stroll 
there  in  the  morning  without  being  wet  by  the  dews. 
Many  of  the  slopes  were  provided  with  marble  steps,  and 
here  and  there,  in  the  centre  of  a  clump  of  firs,  were 
erected  marble  statues  to  emblemize  the  rural  deities. 

But  where  stands  the  idol,  there  we  may  not  feel  the 
presence  of  the  deity.  In  vain  do  we  strive  to  compen- 
sate Nature,  when  we  have  despoiled  her  of  her  original 
charms,  by  calling  in  the  aid  of  the  sculptor,  whose  lifeless 
productions  serve  only  to  chill  the  imagination  that  might 
otherwise  revel  among  the  wizard  creations  of  poetry. 
The  images  of  Ceres,  of  Galatea,  or  of  the  heavenly  hunt- 
ress were  not  attractive  to  the  beings  whom  they  were 
intended  to  represent.  The  naiad  no  longer  sat  by  her 
fountain  which  was  held  in  a  marble  basin,  and  sent  up 
its  luminous  spray,  in  the  midst  of  the  costly  works  of 
art.  The  dryads  had  forsaken  the  old  wood,  whose  moss- 
grown  trees  were  deprived  of  their  variegated  undergrowth, 


THE  FLIGHT   OF   THE   WOOD-NYMPHS.  439 

and  of  the  native  drapery  that  hung  from  their  boughs. 
They  wept  over  the  exiled  birds  and  the  perished  flowers 
of  the  wildwood,  and  fled  sorrowfully  to  some  new  and 
distant  haunts.  The  nymphs  who  used  to  frequent  these 
shady  retreats  had  also  fled.  Woods,  groves,  hills,  and 
valleys  were  all  deserted  ;  and  the  cold,  lifeless  forms  that 
were  carved  out  of  marble  stood  there  alone,  the  mere 
symbols  of  charms  that  no  longer  existed. 

The  village  children  who  formerly  assembled  here  to 
gather  bouquets  of  wild  roses,  red  summer  lilies,  and  the 
sweet-scented  pyrola,  that  grew  up  like  a  nun  under  the 
shade  of  the  deep  woods,  came  often  since  the  improve- 
ments, but  searched  in  vain  for  their  favorite  flowers. 
They  no  longer  saw  the  squirrel  upon  the  tree  or  the  nest 
of  the  sparrow  upon  the  vine-clad  wall.  The  grounds, 
that  seemed  once  to  belong  to  them  as  well  as  to  their 
rustic  proprietor,  now  displayed  something  in  their  aspect 
that  made  them  feel  like  intruders,  as  soon  as  they  set 
foot  within  their  borders.  These  old  woods  and  pastures, 
now  that  they  were  metamorphosed  into  park  and  lawn, 
had  lost  their  charms  for  them,  and  they  turned  away 
with  sadness,  when  they  thought  of  the  delightful  arbors 
that  would  shelter  them  no  more. 

But  the  children  were  not  the  only  sorrowers.  The 
ladies  of  the  mansion  were  grieved  when  they  found  that 
the  rural  deities  had  fled  from  the  very  objects  which 
were  erected  for  their  shrines.  The  cause  of  their  flight 
was  a  problem  they  could  not  explain.  "Why  would  they 
no  longer  dwell  in  their  ancient  abodes  that  seemed  now 
so  much  worthier  the  residence  of  beings  of  a  superior 
nature?  Could  not  the  beautiful  green  lawn  that  had 
taken  the  place  of  the  weedy  pasture,  nor  the  commo- 
dious park  which  was  once  a  tangled  wood;  nor  the 
charming  flowers  of  all  climes  which  had  been  substituted 
for  the  inferior  wild-flowers,    nor    the  marble  fountain 


440  THE   FLIGHT   OF   THE   WOOD-NYMPHS. 

with  its  graceful  spray,  nor  the  neat-spread  gravel-walks, 
induce  them  to  remain  ?  More  than  all,  could  not  the 
beautiful  statuary  that  represented  them  in  material 
shape  please  them  and  retain  them  in  their  ancient 
haunts  ? 

At  length  they  began  to  suspect  that  there  was  a  too 
entire  absence  of  rustic  scenes  and  objects  in  their  present 
arrangements  ;  and  forthwith,  to  appease  the  deities,  rustic 
arches  and  bowers,  made  of  rude  materials,  were  erected 
and  placed  in  different  parts  of  the  grounds.  A  summer- 
house  was  built  of  the  rudest  of  logs,  shingled  with  the 
rough  bark  of  trees,  and  rocks  were  introduced  for  seats 
and  covered  with  mosses.  Fences  were  constructed  in 
similar  style,  and  various  other  rude  devices  were  exe- 
cuted and  distributed  in  a  fanciful  manner  over  the  face 
of  the  landscape.  But  not  even  the  shaggy  goat-footed 
Pan  would  acknowledge  any  such  thing  for  an  altar.  No 
such  objects  could  be  made  to  accord  with  the  "high  keep- 
ing "  of  the  grounds,  nor  could  they  give  an  air  of  rusticity 
to  the  scenes  that  wTere  so  elaborately  ornamented.  They 
wTere  mere  pieces  of  affectation ;  blotches  upon  the  fair 
surface  of  beauty,  that  served  no  other  purpose  but  to  add 
deformity  to  the  unique  productions  of  art. 

One  day,  as  the  ladies  were  strolling  pensively  along  their 
accustomed  paths,  lamenting  that  nothing  could  be  done 
to  appease  the  divinities  whom  they  had  offended,  they 
discovered  in  a  little  nook,  under  a  cliff  that  projected  over 
a  rude  entrance  into  the  wood,  a  slab  of  weather-stained 
slate,  resembling  a  headstone.  Observing  that  it  was  let- 
tered, they  knelt  down  upon  the  green  turf  and  read  the 
following 

INSCRIPTION. 

In  peaceful  solitudes  and  sylvan  shades 
That  lure  to  meditation  ;  where  the  birds 
Sing  all  day  unmolested  in  their  haunts, 


THE   FLIGHT    OF    THE   WOOD-NYMPHS.  441 

And  the  rude  soil  still  bears  the  tender  wilding,  — 

There  dwell  the  rural  deities.     They  love 

The  moss-grown  trees  and  rocks,  the  ilowery  knoll, 

The  tangled  wildwood,  and  the  bower  of  ferns. 

They  fill  each  scene  with  beauty,  and  they  prompt 

The  echoes  to  repeat  the  low  of  herds 

And  bleat  of  tender  Hocks.     The  voice  of  him 

Who  drives  his  team  afield  ;  the  joyous  laugh 

Of  children,  when  on  pleasant  days  they  come 

To  take  from  gentle  Spring  her  gift  of  flowers, 

Are  music  to  their  ears.     All  these  they  love  ; 

But  shun  the  place  where  wealth  and  art  have  joined 

To  shut  out  Nature  from  her  own  domains, 

Or  dress  her  in  the  flaunting  robes  of  fashion. 

AVouldst  thou  retain  them  ?  —  keep  a  humble  heart, 

Nor  in  their  temples  seek  to  show  thy  pride, 

Or  near  their  altars  to  parade  thy  wealth  ; 

Then  may  they  come  and  dwell  with  thee  as  once 

With  simple  shepherdess  and  rural  swain. 


19* 


CELESTIAL   SCENERY. 

The  system  of  Nature  is  attended  with  so  many  cir- 
cumstances that  mar  our  happiness,  that  Nature  has 
benevolently  spread  every  scene  with  beauty  that  shall 
serve  by  its  exhilarating  influence  to  lift  us  above  the 
physical  evils  that  surround  us  and  render  us  half  un- 
mindful of  their  presence.  Hence  beauty  is  made  to 
spring  up,  not  only  in  the  field,  in  the  wilderness,  and  by 
the  wayside,  by  the  sea-shore  and  among  the  hills,  but 
it  is  spread  in  gorgeous  spectacles  upon  the  heavens  in 
the  infinitely  varied  forms  and  arrangements  of  the  clouds, 
and  in  their  equally  beautiful  lights,  shades,  and  colors. 
The  man  of  feeling  and  culture,  therefore,  who  takes 
pleasure  in  surveying  the  beauties  of  a  terrestrial  land- 
scape feels  no  less  delight  in  contemplating  the  scenery 
of  the  heavens.  Every  morning,  noon,  and  evening  affords 
him  scenes  always  charming  and  never  tiresome,  being 
as  changeable  and  evanescent  as  they  are  brilliant  and 
beautiful. 

I  have  ever  been  at  a  loss  to  explain  why  we  are  more 
agreeably  affected  with  the  appearance  of  sunshine  on  a 
circumscribed  part  of  the  landscape,  while  we  ourselves 
are  enveloped  in  shadow,  than  when  the  whole  space 
is  illuminated.  In  this  case  the  circumstances  that 
cause  us  to  look  with  pleasure  upon  the  raging  of  a  tem- 
pest, while  we  are  in  a  comfortable  shelter,  seem  to  be 
reversed.  The  two  facts,  however,  do  not  involve  any 
inconsistency.  In  the  first  case,  we  are  amused  in  a  com- 
fortable lookout,  with  the  movements  of  a  tempest,  —  the 


CELESTIAL   SCENERY.  443 

whirling  of  the  clouds,  the  falling  of  the  rain,  the  flashes 
of  lightning-,  and  the  roar  of  thunder.  In  the  other  case, 
the  sunshine  makes  ah  agreeable  picture.  It  affords  a 
view  that  cannot  so  well  be  seen  in  shadow  or  where  the 
sunlight  is  equalized  over  the  whole  prospect.  It  is  set 
apart  from  the  remainder  like  an  island  in  a  lake,  hut, 
above  all,  the  tract  of  country  thus  illuminated,  while  our 
standing-place  is  shaded,  becomes  to  the  imagination  a 
celestial  view.  The  scene  in  sunshine  is  made  a  part  of 
the  heavens ;  and  the  mind  is  exhilarated  on  beholding 
a  scene  in  our  earthly  landscape  exalted  as  it  were  to  the 
skies. 

The  moon  has  always  been  a  favorite  theme  of  the 
poets.  Her  course  in  the  heavens  has  in  all  ages  been 
marked  with  interest,  and  her  form  and  phases  watched 
with  delight.  We  associate  her  beams  with  serenity  and 
peace.  Her  very  aspect  breathes  of  purity  and  holiness. 
How  gloomy  and  lonely  would  be  the  night  without  her 
presence,  except  with  the  knowledge  that  she  will  soon 
reappear  to  bless  the  earth  with  her  beams.  Nature 
seems  to  have  regarded  this  luminary  as  indispensable  to 
the  moral  wants  of  rational  beings;  but  in  this,  as  in 
other  cases,  she  has  been  cautious  of  prodigality.  I  have 
often  thought  that  two  or  three  moons  would  be  less  de- 
lightful than  the  solitary  orb  that  guards  our  night.  As 
the  moon  is  not  needful,  like  the  sun,  for  the  existence  of 
light  and  life,  but  is  rather  one  of  the  luxuries  of  Nature, 
her  light  is  more  beautiful  than  useful,  while  we  do  nut 
suffer  from  her  occasional  absence. 

Lovers  have  always  been  charmed  by  moonlight,  that 
accords  so  well  with  seclusion  and  tender  sentiment, 
"A  fair  face  looks  yet  fairer  under  the  light  of  the  moon, 
and  a  sweet  voice  is  sweeter  among  the  whispering  Bounds 
of  a  summer  night."  This  remark  of  Walter  Scott  de- 
scribes what  almost  all  persons  have  felt.     The  beauty 


444  CELESTIAL    SCENERY. 

of  a  lovely  countenance  seems  to  partake  of  a  more  spir- 
itual character  in  the  mellowing  light  of  the  moon ;  for 
this  luminary  brings  us  nearer  heaven  than  the  sun,  by 
our  sequestration  in  the  darkness  that  surrounds  us. 

The  moon  is  regarded  by  those  who  are  melancholy 
or  affected  with  grief  as  a  heavenly  sympathizer.  They 
welcome  her  soft  and  pensive  light,  to  divert  the  soul 
from  the  misery  of  its  own  thoughts  and  to  breathe  into 
it  that  serenity  which  pervades  her  countenance.  To 
a  religious  mind  this  fair  orb  seems  very  properly  a 
heavenly  gift  intended  for  the  refreshment  of  the  soul, 
especially  as  the  physical  benefits  conferred  upon  us  by 
the  moon  are  not  apparent  to  reason  and  observation. 
Hence  we  hail  this  luminary  when  ascending  from  the 
misty  verge  of  the  horizon  as  a  fair  messenger  of  heaven, 
and  we  are  inclined  to  pay  to  her  the  homage  of  the  soul 
as  to  a  living  deity. 

In  ancient  mythology  the  moon  is  a  serene  goddess 
enthroned  among  the  constellations,  —  the  daughter  of 
Jove,  the  heavenly  huntress,  the  chaste  Luna,  the  in- 
corruptible Diana.  She  is  the  embodiment  of  all  purity, 
of  all  blessedness,  of  tranquillity,  and  of  hallowed  and 
constant  affection.  She  is  the  guardian  of  innocence,  the 
protectress  of  virtue,  the  light  of  heaven  in  darkness, 
the  guide  of  hope  in  despondency,  the  soother  of  grief, 
and  the  source  of  that  tranquil  inspiration  that  comes 
from  peaceful  themes  and  pleasant  recollections.  Her 
course  in  heaven  is  the  path  of  peace,  and  her  light  is 
the  same  that  dwells  in  the  souls  of  heroes  and  inspired 
bards. 

The  light  of  the  moon  guides  our  steps  without  clearly 
revealing  our  presence  to  others.  She  is  therefore  the 
symbol  of  benevolence,  yielding  to  the  fugitive  the  means 
of  finding  safety  and  granting  him  her  light  for  his  own 
deliverance  while  it  is  insufficient  to  betray  him.     It  ,is 


CELESTIAL   SCENERY.  445 

for  this  that  the  moonlight  is  so  dear  to  one  who  seeks 
seclusion  in  an  hour  of  night  that  cannot  be  devoted  to 
rest.  Twilight  partakes  of  the  same  quality,  but  in  a 
less  degree.  It  is  more  diffused,  having  no  shadows  un- 
der which  an  object  might  be  concealed,  while  its  light  is 
of  less  avail  to  the  wanderer.  Moonlight,  above  all  other 
kinds  of  light,  is  therefore  the  comfort  of  those  who  seek 
concealment  that  they  may  enjoy  an  hour  of  freedom  ; 
who  would  meditate  awhile  without  interruption,  or  hold 
sacred  intercourse  with  a  companion  whom  it  would  be 
imprudent  to  meet  under  the  broad  light  of  day.  Hence 
those  who  are  cheerful  and  those  who  are  depressed, 
and  those  who  are  anxious  and  afflicted,  hail  the  light 
of  the  moon  with  gladness  and  her  placid  countenance 
with  veneration. 

To  comprehend  the  full  glory  and  beauty  of  moonlight, 
it  must  be  seen  at  one  time  upon  the  calm  surface  of  a 
lake  and  again  upon  the  ruffled  tide  of  the  ocean.  In 
one  case,  it  images  its  own  serenity  upon  the  placid 
mirror ;  in  the  other,  it  forms  a  beautiful  contrast  with 
the  agitated  state  of  the  waves,  —  the  peace  of  heaven 
opposed  to  the  distracted  condition  of  the  inhabitants  of 
the  earth. 

The  light  of  the  moon  is  seldom  iridescent.  Her  radi- 
ance is  mostly  of  a  pure  whiteness.  When  her  light  falls 
upon  the  clouds  they  assume  no  gorgeous  colors ;  they 
display  that  silvery  light  only  that  symbolizes  purity. 
She  often  wears  a  corona,  and  gives  thereby  a  prophetic 
signal  to  the  laborers,  who  bless  the  token  as  the  omen  of 
refreshing  showers.  This  corona  is  projected  upon  the 
highest  clouds,  and  indicates  the  prevalence  of  moisture 
in  the  upper  part  of  the  atmosphere.  No  such  appear- 
ance is  impressed  at  any  time  upon  the  lower  clouds. 
The  lunar  rainbow  is  a  beautiful  but  rare  phenomenon, 
which  I  have  seen  only  once  in  my  life. 


446  CELESTIAL   SCENERY. 

Though  I  have  treated  of  the  moon,  as  an  object  of 
more  passionate  contemplation  than  the  sun,  the  effects 
of   sunlight  are  infinitely  more  glorious  and   beautiful. 
The  sun,  being  too  intensely  bright  to  be  viewed  by  the 
naked  eye,  must  be  adored  in  its  effects,  —  in  the  beautiful 
tintings  of  sunrise  and  sunset,  in  the  silvery  lustre  of 
the  clouds  at  noonday,  in  the  halo   that  surrounds  his 
disk  and  gives  warning  of  a  tempest,  and  in  the  rainbow 
that  announces  the   end  of  the   storm.     It  is  in  these 
celestial  phenomena  that  we  behold  the  beauty  of  colors 
in  their  highest   degree.      Of  all   that   is  beautiful   on 
earth,  there  is  nothing  that  equals  the   beauty  of  the 
sun's  rays  upon  the  clouds.     There  is  nothing  so  exhil- 
arating to  the  mind,  or  that  conveys  such  a  vivid  con- 
sciousness of  the  existence  of  something  purer  and  more 
divine  than  our  life  in  this  world. 


FEBRUARY. 

When  we  consider  the  general  sameness  of  winter's 
aspects,  we  need  not  marvel  that  among  the  works  of 
landscape-painters  there  are  but  few  pictures  of  winter. 
These  few  have  generally  represented  some  domestic 
scene,  —  a  cottage  with  its  roof  covered  with  snow ;  cat- 
tle standing  in  a  warm  shelter  in  the  barnyard  ;  poultry 
huddled  in  a  sunny  corner;  and  children  hastening  toward 
their  homes.  Amon^  the  designs  of  Thomas  Bewick 
there  is  onlv  one  winter  scene,  and  this  has  served  as 
the  original  from  which  all  later  ones  have  been  copied 
or  imitated.  It  represents  a  traveller  with  a  pack  on  his 
shoulders,  trudging  over  a  trackless  region  of  snow-cov- 
ered ground,  accompanied  by  his  dog.  He  makes  his  way, 
not  like  a  man  who  is  enjoying  his  walk,  but  as  one  beset 
with  dangers  and  thinking  only  of  gaining  his  journey's 
end.  The  sun  shines  coldly  upon  him,  and  the  wind 
causes  him  to  bend  to  its  blast.  The  naked  trees  frown 
upon  him,  his  lengthened  shadow  seems  like  the  ghost  of 
"Winter  forever  haunting  his  sight,  and  his  dog  looks  up  to 
him  piteously  and  seemingly  anxious  to  know  his  master's, 
thoughts. 

Whenever  we  ramble  in  winter  we  can  readily  under- 
stand why  the  naturalist,  who  studies  individual  objects, 
should  find  but  few  attractions  in  a  winter's  walk;  but  it 
is  not  so  clear  why  the  painter,  whose  principal  purpose 
is  to  observe  aspects,  should  be  uninterested.  If  we  are 
inclined  to  indulge  in  meditation,  no  other  season  is  so 
favorable  to  it.     In  the  agreeable  monotony  of  a  snow- 


448  FEBRUARY. 

scene,  there  is  but  little  to  divert  attention  from  our 
thoughts.  We  can  find  enough  to  employ  our  observa- 
tion ;  but  there  is  less  than  at  other  seasons  that  forces 
itself  upon  our  attention.  We  can  leave  ourselves  at 
any  time,  to  examine  a  remarkable  object  or  to  view  a 
charming  scene. 

He  must  have  an  eye  that  is  insensible  to  grandeur 
and  a  mind  that  is  incapable  of  appreciating  the  sublimity 
of  landscape  who  would  say  that  Nature  is  destitute  of 
charms  in  the  month  -of  February.  It  is  true  that  the 
variegated  surface  of  brown  and  white  that  characterizes 
a  winter  prospect,  though  it  be  here  and  there  diversified 
with  a  knoll  of  evergreen-trees  that  lift  their  heads  as  it 
were  in  triumph  above  the  snows,  will  not  compare  with 
the  interminable  verdure  of  summer  or  the  magnificence 
of  forest  scenery  in  autumn  ;  yet  there  is  a  quiet  sublim- 
ity that  pervades  all  Nature  —  hill,  field,  and  flood  —  at 
this  season,  which  almost  reconciles  one  to  the  temporary 
absence  of  summer  flowers  and  spicy  gales. 

I  am  no  lover  of  cold  weather,  and  feel  more  contented 
when  the  sultry  heats  of  summer  oblige  me  to  seek  the 
refreshing  breezes  beneath  a  willow-tree  on  the  banks 
of  the  sea-shore,  than  when  the  cold  blasts  of  winter 
drive  me  within  doors  or  force  me  to  mope  in  a  sunny 
nook  in  the  forest.  But  there  are  days  in  winter,  when 
the  wind  is  still  and  mild,  which  are  attended  with  pleas- 
ant sensations  seldom  experienced  even  in  the  month  of 
June.  Whether  the  delightful  influence  of  this  serene 
weather  arises  from  a  physical  cause,  or  whether  it  is  the 
result  of  contrast  with  the  cold  that  has  kept  us  half 
imprisoned  for  many  weeks,  I  cannot  determine.  But 
when  I  review  the  rural  rambles  of  former  years,  my 
winter  walks  on  these  delightful  days  will  always  crowd 
most  sweetly  and  vividly  upon  my  memory. 

In  winter  the  mind  possesses  more  sensibility  to  rural 


FEBRUARY.  449 

charms  than  during  the  seasons  of  vegetation  and  flowers. 
A  long  deprivation  of  any  kind  of  pleasure  increases  our 
susceptibility  and  magnifies  our  capacity  for  enjoyment. 
Thus  we  may  become  indifferent  to  the  warbling  of  birds 
in  the  summer,  while  we  are  forming  a  habit  which,  after 
the  long  silence  of  the  wintry  woods,  shall  cause  the  mel- 
odies of  spring  to  yield  us  the  greatest  delight.  After 
the  confinement  of  winter  we  are  keenly  alive  to  agree- 
able impressions  from  all  rural  sights  and  sounds.  Then 
does  the  sight  of  a  green  arbor  in  the  woods  or  a  green 
plat  in  a  valley  affect  us  as  I  can  imagine  a  weary  travel- 
ler to  be  affected  on  suddenly  meeting  an  oasis  in  a  desert. 
The  melancholy  that  attends  a  ramble  in  the  autumn'  has  - 
passed  from  us,  and  we  now  come  forth,  during  the  sleep 
of  vegetation  and  in  the  general  hush  of  animated  things, 
with  some  of  the  gladness  that  inspires  the  mind  when 
the  little  song-sparrow  first  sings  his  prelude  to  the  gen- 
eral anthem  of  Xature.  Some  blessing  comes  from  every 
sacrifice,  and  some  recompense  for  every  privation.  Thus 
the  darkness  of  night  prepares  us  to  welcome  with  glad- 
ness the  dawn  of  a  new  morning.  The  charm  of  life 
springs  from  its  vicissitudes,  and  we  are  capable  of  no 
new  enjoyment  until  we  have  rested  from  pleasure. 

When  the  earth  is  covered  with  snow  that  lias  grown 
hard  enough  to  bear  our  footsteps  without  sinking  into 
the  drifts,  I  have  often  taken  advantage  of  one  of  the 
serene  davs  of  winter  to  ramble  in  the  woods.  Every 
pleasant  rural  object  I  then  behold  affords  me  a-  much 
pleasure  as  I  should  derive  in  summer  from  all  the 
charms  of  landscape  united  in  one  view.  The  snow  lies 
in  scattered  parcels  over  the  earth,  that  serves  to  variegate 
the  scene  and  to  render  it  more  pleasing  to  the  sight  than 
the  dull  monotonous  brown  which  the  landscape  wears  at 
this  season,  when  there  is  no  snow. 

Every  sound  I  hear  in  the  woods  at  such  a  time  is 

cc 


450  FEBRUARY. 

music,  though  it  be  but  the  cowbell's  chime,  the  stroke 
of  the  woodman's  axe,  or  the  crash  of  some  tall  tree  just 
falling  to  the  ground.  Sometimes,  during  this  period  of 
calm  sunshine,  the  squirrels  will  come  forth  from  their 
retreats  and  in  the  echoing  silence  of  the  woods  we  may 
hear  their  rustling  leap  among  the  dry  oak-leaves,  their 
occasional  chirrup,  and  the  dropping  of  nuts  from  the 
lofty  branches  of  the  hickory.  There  is  music  in  all  the 
echoes  that  break  the  stillness  of  the  hour ;  in  the  cawing 
of  crows,  the  scream  of  jays,  or  the  quick  hammering  of 
the  woodpecker  upon  the  hollow  trunk  of  some  ancient 
standard  of  the  forest. 

The  mild  serenity  of  the  weather,  the  fresh  odors  that 
arise  from  thawing  vegetation,  the  beautiful  haze  that  sur- 
rounds the  horizon,  reflecting  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow, 
the  lively  chattering  of  poultry  in  the  farm-yards,  the 
bleating  of  flocks  and  the  lowing  of  kine,  an  occasional 
concert  of  crows  in  the  neighboring  wood,  the  checkered 
landscape  of  snow-drifts  rising  out  of  the  brown  earth  and 
gleaming  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  soft  hazy  light  that 
o-lows  from  distant  hills  and  spires,  —  all  these  rural 
sights  and  sounds  affect  us  with  a  pleasure  not  surpassed 
by  that  which  is  felt  at  any  time  or  season.  Now  and 
then,  amidst  all  this  harmonious  medley,  as  if  to  remind 
us  of  the  coming  delights  of  spring,  a  solitary  song-spar- 
row, prematurely  arrived  from  the  south,  will  tune  his 
little  throat  and  sing  from  some  leafless  shrub  his  first 
salutation  of  reviving  Nature. 

Among  the  attractions  of  winter  scenery  I  must  not 
omit  the  frostwork  upon  the  windows,  which  has  been 
so  often  used  by  poets  to  emblemize  the  hopes  of  youth. 
All  vegetation  in  summer  presents  not  a  greater  variety 
of  forms  than  we  may  behold  in  these  beautiful  configu- 
rations. The  mornings  which  are  most  remarkable  for 
this  curious  pencil-work  are  such  as  follow  a  very  cold 


FEBRUARY.  451 

night  after  mild  and  thawing  weather  on  the  preceding 
day.  Nothing  in  the  world  seems  so  much  like  the  effects 
of  enchantment.  The  pictures  made  by  the  frost  upon 
our  window-panes  are  a  part  of  the  domestic  scenery  of 
winter;  but  their  origin  and  progress  form  a  curious  study. 
It  is  remarkable  that  this  deposit  of  frost  resembles  in 
structure  and  development  the  formation  of  clouds  in 
clear  weather  in  the  upper  region  of  the  heavens.  The 
clouds  usually  display  more  beauty  of  form  in  winter  and 
in  very  dry  weather,  because  the  arid  state  of  the  atmos- 
phere is  favorable  to  their  delicate  organization.  Hence 
the  most  beautiful  clouds  are  those  which  are  highest 
above  the  earth's  surface,  where  the  air  contains  but  very 
little  moisture.  The  same  principle  affects  the  formation 
of  window-frost.  The  air  of  the  room  when  only  slightly 
charged  with  vapor  projects  the  most  delicate  and  beauti- 
ful figures  on  the  windows. 

The  first  deposit  on  the  window-glass,  when  the  weather 
is  very  cold  and  the  air  of  the  room  moist,  is  a  thin  iri- 
descent film  resembling  that  produced  by  oil  spread  upon 
the  surface  of  still  water.  This  iridescence  vanishes  at 
the  moment  when  the  film  begins  to  change  into  a  crys- 
tallized surface.  Immediately  there  appears  in  the  place 
of  it  a  collection  of  little  flocculi,  —  a  sort  of  constellation 
of  minute  snow-flakes,  without  any  formal  arrangement. 
These,  as  they  increase  from  the  moisture  of  the  room, 
slowly  assume  a  feathery  organization,  with  more  or  less 
geometrical  beauty,  according  as  the  deposit  is  made  from 
air  that  is  lightly  or  heavily  charged  with  dampness.  The 
less  the  moisture  in  the  air  of  the  room,  if  there  be  a 
sufficient  quantity,  and  the  colder  the  air  outside  if  the 
inner  air  be  not  much  above  freezing-point,  the  finer  and 
more  beautiful  are  these  configurations.  Hence  the  win- 
dows of  a  sleeping-room,  if  not  occupied  by  more  than 
two  or  three  persons,  are  more  delicately  frosted  on  a  cold 


452  FEBRUARY. 

morning  than  those  of  a  cooking-room  where  the  mois- 
ture is  precipitated  so  rapidly  upon  them  as  to  mar  their 
arrangement. 

There  is  no  season  or  month  without  its  peculiar  beau- 
ties. They  are  distilled  like  dew  from  heaven,  and  cover 
all  places.  They  are  scattered  over  the  greensward  in 
spring  and  summer,  upon  the  forest  in  autumn,  and  in 
winter  they  are  spread  over  the  earth  with  the  whiteness 
of  snow  and  precipitated  in  frost  upon  the  trees  and  upon 
our  window-panes.  At  all  times  and  seasons  may  we  look 
upon  these  wonders  and  beauties  that  attract  our  sight  in 
the  least  as  well  as  the  greatest  operations  of  the  Invisible 
Artist. 


INDEX. 


A. 

PAOE 

Acadian  Owl Strix  Acadica   .     .     .     .282 

American  Goldfinch Fringilla  tristis     .     .     .  14 

American  Linnet Fringilla  purpurea    .     .  16 

Angling 228 

Anthem  of  Morn 112 

April 72 

August 235 

B. 

Baltimore  Oriole Icterus  Baltimore  ...  86 

Bank-Swallow Hirundo  riparia    .     .     .  251 

Barn-Swallow Hirundo  rufa   ....  248 

Bee-Martin Muscicapa  tyrannus   .     .  255 

Birds  of  the  Air 248 

Birds  of  the  Farm  and  the  Farmyard 419 

Birds  of  the  Garden  and  Orchard,  No.  1 5 

«<  a  a  ct  (<      tt  jo 

"    III 83 

Birds  of  the  Moor 333 

Birds  of  the  Night 277 

Birds  of  the  Pasture  and  Forest,  No.  1 118 

"        "  "  "  "II 164 

"    III 202 

Birds  of  the  Sea  and  the  Shore 391 

Birds  of  Winter 364 

Bittern Ardea  minor    ....  340 

Black  Duck Anas  obscura     ....   430 

Bluebird Ampelis  sialis  ....     49 

Blue-Jay Corvus  cristatus     .     .     .  377 

Bobolink Icterus  agripennis ,     .     .     46 

Brigadier Vireo  gilvus     ....     43 

Brown  Creeper Oerthia  fa  miliar  is      .     .  375 


454 


INDEX. 


Calculations  .  . 
Canada  Goose 
Carpenter  Bird  . 
Catbird  .  .  . 
Cedar- Bird  .  . 
Celestial  Scenery 
Chewink  .  .  . 
Chickadee  .  . 
Chimney-Swallow 
Clapper- Rail  .  . 
Cliff-Swallow.  . 
Clouds  .... 
Cock  .... 
Cowbird  .  .  . 
Crane  .... 
Crow  .... 
Cuckoo     .     .     . 


Anser  Canadensis  .  .  . 
Picus  principalis  .  .  . 
Turdus  felivox  .  .  . 
Bombijcilla  Carolinensis 


PAGE 

303 
428 
368 
169 
90 
442 
121 
371 
254 
337 
249 

311 

Phasianus  gallus  ....  424 

Icterus  pecoris 204 

Arclca  Hcrodias    ....   342 

Corvus  cor  one 379 

Cuculus  Americanus .     .     .  202 


Fringilla  eryth  rophlha  I  ma 

Parus  palustris      .     .     . 
Hirundo  pelasgia 
Rallus  crepitans    . 
Hirundo  fulva 


D. 


December.     .     .     . 

Dove 

Downy  "Woodpecker 
Drought    .... 


Duck,  Common 


.     .     .     .' 384 

Cohimba 421 

Picus  puhescens      ....  373 
186 

Anas  boschas 429 


E. 
Early  Flowers 20 


Facts  that  prove  the  Utility  of  Birds 415 

February 447 

Field  and  Garden 96 

Flicker Picus  auratus 129 

Flight  of  the  "Wood-Nymphs 432 

Flowerless  Plants 176 

Flowers  as  Emblems 131 

Foraging  Habits  of  Birds 241 

Flowers  of  Autumn 267 

G. 

Golden-crowned  Thrush Turdus  aurocopillus      .     .  124 

Golden  Piobin Icterus  Baltimore ....  86 

Golden-winged  Woodpecker  ....     Picus  auratus 129 


INDEX. 


455 


Goose 

Green  "Warbler    .     .     . 
Grosbeak,  Rose-breasted 
Ground- Robin     .     . 
Gull 


TA'  i: 

Anscr 427 

Sylvia  circus 125 

Fringilla  Ludovici  ma  .  .  129 
Frni 'j ilia  erythropkthalma  .  12l 
Larus  argcn/atus  .     .     .     .   3'j? 


H. 


Habits  of  Birds,  Changes  in 
Haunts  of  Flowers  . 

Hair- Bird 

Hairy  Woodpecker .     .     . 

Hemp-Bird 

Hermit-Thrush  .... 

Heron,  Blue 

Hibernation  of  Swallows  . 
House-Sparrow  .... 
House-Wren 


Humming-Bird 


329 

56 

Fringilla  socialis  .     .     .     .  12 

Picus  villosus 37-4 

.  .  14 

.  .  164 

.  .  342 

.  .  262 

.  .  419 

.  .  52 

.  .  259 


Fringilla  tristis     , 

Turdus  sol itar ius 
Arclca  Hcrodins    . 


Fringilla  domes/ ica 
Troglodytes  fulvus 
Trcchilus  colubris 


I. 


Indigo-Bird 


Fringilla  cyanca  . 


J. 


January 
July  . 
June 


92 


408 
191 

147 


K. 

Kingbird Muscicapa  tyrannus 

Kingfisher Alcedo  alcyon    .     . 


255 
394 


Lark,  Meadow Sturnus  Lvdoricianus     .     .     88 

Log-Cock Picus  pileatus 368 

Loon Cohjmbus  glacialis     .     .     . 

M. 

March 31 

Marsh-Wren Troglodytes  brevirostris  .     .     64 

Maryland  Yellow-Throat       ....  Sylvia  trichas 

M; 


lay 


Meadow-Lark SI  urn  us  Dudovicianus 

Mocking-Bird Turdus  polyglottics     . 

Music  of  Birds 


105 

88 

290 

1 


456 


INDEX. 


N. 


PAGE 


Night-Hawk  ( Caprimulgus  Virginianus  .  287 

Night-Jar       ) 

November 354 

Nuthatch Sitta  Carolinensis ....  376 

0. 

October 324 

Old  Houses 399 

O'Lincon  Family 48 

Oven-Bird Turdus  aurocapillus  .     .     .124 

Old  Roads 350 

Owls 278 


P. 


Peabody-Bird 
Pewee  .  : .  r*¥ 
Picturesque  Animals 
Plea  for  the  Birds  . 
Plumage  of  Birds  . 
Preacher  .... 
Protection  of  Birds 
Purple  Finch  .  . 
Purple  Grackle  .  . 
Purple  Martin    .     . 


Fringilla  albicollis 
Muscicapa  nunciola 


Virco  olivaceus 


Fringilla  purpurea, 
Quiscalus  versicolor 
Hirundo  purpurea 


18 
256 
138 
157 

78 

45 
197 

16 
208 
252 


Qua-Bird 
Quail    . 


Q. 


R. 

Red-breasted  Woodpecker     .     .     .     , 
Red-headed  Woodpecker  .... 

Redstart 

Red-Thrush 


Ardea  discors 341 

Perdix  Virginiana     .     .     .210 


Red-winged  Blackbird 

Robin 

Rocks  .     .     .     .     . 
Rose-breasted  Grosbeak 
Ruffed  Grouse     .     .     . 
Ruins 


Picus  Carolinus     .     . 
Picus  erythroe&phalus 
Muscicapa  ruticilla    . 
Turdus  rufus  .     . 
Icterus  phceniccus  . 
Turdus  migratorius  . 


Fringilla  Ludoviciana 
Tctrao  umbcllus    . 


368 
374 
123 
172 
206 
83 
25 
129 
212 
296 


S. 


Sand-Martin  . 
Saw-Whetter 


Hirundo  riparia   ....   251 
Strix  Acadica 282 


INDEX.  45 


- 


i'A<;i. 


Scarlet  Tanager Tanagra  rubra      .     .     .     .128 

Screech-Owl Strkc  Ado 283 

September .,-., 

Simples  and  Simplers 214 

Singing- Birds 37 

SniPe Scolopax  Wilsonii      .     .     .  335 

Song-Sparrow g 

Sounds  from  Animate  Nature 318 

Sounds  from  Inanimate  Nature 344 

Speckled  Creeper    ."  ?M  ■  .     .   ^f*?- Ccrthia  maculata  .     .     .     .123 

Spotted  Tattler Totanus  macularius  .     .     .   395 

Summer  Yellow-Bird Sylvia  citrineU a    ....     93 

Swan 430 

Swamp-Sparrow 229 

T. 

Tattler Totamts  macularius  .     .     .   407 

Testimony  for  the  Birds 360 

Titmouse,  Black-capped Parus  palustris      .     .     .     .371 

Turkey Meleagris  gallipavo    .     .     .  426 

Turtle-Dove Columba  Carol inensis     .     .  423 

U. 
Upland  Plover Totanus  Bartramius .     .     .  397 

V. 

Veery Turdus  Wilsonii  .     .     .     .167 

Vesper-Sparrow Fringilla  graminea   ...     10 

Vireo 43 

Virginia  Eail Rallus  Virginianns  .     .     .  336 

W. 

Water  Scenery 66 

"Whippoorwill Caprim/ulgus  vociferus    .     .  285 

Why  Birds  sing  in  the  Night 308 

Wilson's  Thrush      . Turdus  Wilsonii      .     .     .  l»;; 

Winter- Wren Troglodytes  hyemalis      .     .  54 

Woodcock Scolopax  rusticola      .     .     .  333 

Wood-Sparrow Fringilla  pusilla  ....  120^ 

Wood-Swallow    .     .    ■ llirini'ln  bicolor     ....  250    ■' 

Wood-Pewee ]fu#cicapa  wrens  ....  258 

Wood-Thrush Turdus  melodus    ....  166 


Cambridge  :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  and  Company. 


